Skip Martyrdom (Like St John)

You know you're getting old
When there's trees younger than you
But taller than your house
I mean deciduous not evergreen
I was a clever teen but lazy
Now the brain's fogged and hazy
Fingernails grow at two millimetres a month
That's three full sets a year
A planet scattered with clippings
That might not decompose for millennia
It's a myth that nails grow on corpses
Neither does hair
It's a morbid trick played by a shrinking skin
A fallen fortress
Final convulsions then zinc, iron and glucose stop pulsing
Through veins, valves and ventricles
Capillaries softly stilled

The heart's just a muscle
Despite what they've told us
In hundreds of languages
On screens and pages
But I feel love in the forearms
And the aches of my legs

Long drive South
The A1 a swamp of grief and sadness
Impossible Soul played over and over
Emptying houses
Who decides what's junk
The smell of metal on grayed fingers
Romantic letters in a trunk
Chuck moldy groceries
Pick out the best crockery
Read a letter from the notary
Sat in the rockery
Throw a penny in a well that's only decorative
Just an inch deep
Wishes rejected
Leave the coin in the lawn
Should I be more forlorn?
Have simpler dreams?
A log cabin by some water?
Skip martydom like St John
Do nothing fancy
Make no one a fiance

The heart's just a muscle
Despite what they've told us
In hundreds of languages
On screens and pages
But I feel love in the back of my neck
The arch of my feet and behind these tired eyelids