“And indeed there will be time
To wonder, ‘do I dare’ and, ‘do I dare?’
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair –”       TS Eliot    

Almost fifty-seven …

The limbs begin to stiffen

And the sun, now past its zenith,
Sinks reluctantly below the Western sky
And down the road,
A long way off,
A youth waves fondly, finally,
Goodbye.

Quickly now the wind
Stirs in the trees,
Lifts itself above a breeze
And quietly begins to moan.

I feel a chill within the bone.

Somewhat nearer than the boy
A hoary figure comes
Munching its blue gums
To reveal
An almost fiendish smile.

I stay awhile and watch it click its jaws …

Then I turn my back upon the boy
And go indoors.

Bruce Cooper
August 2002