let it grey

older and the skin
is dirty,
no longer holding the shape
it used to.

a little older now and the
mouth goes and says
what it wants.
and the tongue is free too.

you'll have to pardon me.
you'll have to pardon me
being a little older now.

those jeans are worn
and the holes are but stones
wished into a pond.

the boots let water in and the dirt
won't wash away.
that there, under the nails,
shows where
the boots have traveled.

and the crook in the back
leans you forward though time
to where you can almost catch
a peek at the finish line.

the skin doesn't snap back
the way it used to. and there are
marks there you can't quite place -
some scar or another you picked up
along the way, and you can't recall
the lesson.
but you remember the journey;
the steps it took to get where you
belong,
the miles and miles
of dust settled
on already dirty skin.

a little older now
and you'll have to pardon
the vulgarity,
but most of it didn't
mean a damn.
unless you're counting those
few times when the lessons
stuck.