John 6.5
by Barlow Adams, 3.24am Sept 10th 2021

That first gray pubic hair

appeared like a prophet of old

wandering a brunette desert

And it sayeth to me,

 

“Let it go dog, it’s over.”

 

I made a martyr of him 

with my wife’s garden shears 

then bed her until Heaven shook

 

And in the morning two 

apostles of age had sprung 

forth. Oh, curse of Methusala, 

hairy hydra whose roars

 

trumpet the arrival of impotence. 

 

Gabriel comes for all of us,

even if we can’t come for him

and even a pill to resurrect Lazarus

can’t turn these old eyes blue.

 

Now my crotch is a

gathering of holy men,

wise and wispy and white

 

as snow around a dying tree.