Crisis: a sestina
Crisis
Approaching the checkout with a hop,
Lou contemplates the passage of time
while leering at the young cashier who toys with bags,
he hesitantly pays for his 12 pack of Trojans—
imagines his reflection in florescence,
a solitary, hairy garden gnome.
He has perused all the depilatories to extinguish the gnome,
bobbing his head in time with the muzak, allowing himself a hop.
He shudders to think of his deadened, saggy complexion in florescence,
a constant cosmetic battle against time.
Nose hair trimmer obtained, he feels downright sneaky—a regular Trojan,
ready for fresh, supple skin—he forsakes wrinkles, bags.
Exiting the convenience store, Lou grips his shopping bag
hobbling around the icy parking lot, an unseasonable gnome—
his boot slips, he falls—bag spilling, unleashing hidden Trojans,
all his stately composure fading as he struggles to his feet, an awkward hop.
He looks at his reflection, a sad ice-covered man in orange florescence.
He soon recaptures the feeling of youth—a kind of neon, a brilliant florescence.
When Lou returns home, he stares at himself in the mirror, counts the bags
underneath his eyes and listens to the subtle tick of time.
He shaves away the last of his disappointment, banishes the gnome—
he attempts a wavering grin at his reflection, a sexy hop—
He is ready. Lou pockets the Trojans.
At the club, he lies about his age, embodies an ageless Trojan,
invites young girls to grope away the scrutiny of florescence.
Their meaty kisses an invitation, a revitalization—Lou’s heart shudders, hops—
their flesh a fleeting memory, a welcomed vacation from the sagging, bagging
glare of his ex-wife’s memory—her damned collection of garden gnomes—
In the shadow of youth’s company, he has cheated time.
But the night grows, the buzzing of his alarm signals the time,
he groans, shakes the hangover from his mind, and disposes of the Trojans,
their wrappers the only reminder of his revelry. He can feel the gnome
creep back in. He invites another day under florescence,
his ego a wavering, faulty thing—he places his secrets in bags,
returns to responsibility with a staggering hop.
Time passes quickly underneath florescence,
Trojans, they hide age within shopping bags.
Gnomes, greedy, ageless, dancing an eternal hop.
