Prose

Even my pubic hair’s gone grey.
Tufts bristle from my ears and nose.
Why this bald patch on top? God knows...

If life were something lived in play
I’d laugh at what the mirror shows:
a second chin, a stoop, the way

I pull my stomach in to close
the gap with when I could compose
myself as poetry, not prose.

Tom Vaughan

If you have any comments on this poem, Tom Vaughan would be pleased to hear from you.