"Men at 40"
reevaluate the slope of their penmanship -
now is the time to be understood. they rake fingers
across the axis of their skulls, empty their bellybuttons
of lint. in the shade of tall elms they pick
their noses as they did as boys, wipe their toil
on furrowed bark, daring themselves to rediscover
the same spot, the same snot tomorrow. they endeavor
to siphon the wisdom of sons, fill lunch bags with acorns,
walk slowly from room to room - they dare not leap from top steps.
© 2008 Scott Thomas Summers
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