Hayden Carruth (August 3, 1921 – September 29, 2008 / Woodbury, Connecticut)
Old guy goes downstairs reeling
and shying at newel and banister
while how his feet once blistered
the treads is what he is recalling,
for the young know how to balance.
Christ help all who wobble,
stagger, trip, step double,
and are their own hindrance,
oh help them. The day is fine out,
bright cold, the blood tingles,
in the yard laughter jangles.
It's a great day to fall on your sinciput
blonk!--and the world is dipping,
breath is thin, vision blurred,
what no one says is what you heard.
Look at the bright blood dripping.
Comments about this poem (Goes by Hayden Carruth )
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