I try to picture this child in my arms
as an old woman in a distant time,
despite global warming and nuclear bombs.

Maybe she’ll one day read these dodgy rhymes
to Great Great Grandkids I may never know?
Well, are you currently reading these lines?

Have I been gone a long, long time?



There is a slight correlation between
the little red arrows that point downwards
next to the markets’ names on the flat screen

and the grey hairs appearing in my beard,
my softening stomach, my thick crows lines
and neurons snuffing out within my head.

But then I touch your flawless newborn skin,
your supple joints, your blooming sense of self
and I’m less fearful of the grim downturn.

I’ve spent my youth and built no other wealth
to line our nest as winter sidles up,
and in these dying kernels of our world

I see the shining seeds for the new crop.

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