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An, out-of-season,
old man; withered.
Like, a malnourished tree.
His thoughts,
on a life poorly lived,
are sucked,
unwillingly, up
by his, deep-rooted,
bigoted, jaundiced,
ideology.

His, unseasoned feet,
are, unwaveringly, planted –
recalcitrant –
never moving,
never bending,
never change.
A walking reminder,
that, when you neglect,
to leave,
or, elect, to burn, over,
a new leaf,
that doesn’t,
necessarily, mean,
you’re ‘of age’.

The seasons mock him, quarterly;
with spring chickens,
and, unsucked eggs,
with, summer suns,
and, daughters fled,
with, an all-consuming-
sense, of falling down,
until, fallen dead,
and, as autumn, turns,
to winter, with a blizzard,
snowstorm, avalanche,
covering his tombstone,
white bone, blanketed,
by, white foam. Covering
a withered body, and, withered thoughts,
within, a withered, buried head.

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