More Casual Infirmities

I’d have thought by now you'd be scarred by age,

Disfigured by the wind, burned by the sun,

Defaced by termites, eroded by the tides,

But your perfection’s made of sterner stuff.

I’d have thought by this time you’d have forgotten:

The memory of cruelty all gone,

Borne away on the wind, washed out to sea,

Erased by drugs, lapped up by thirsty dogs.

You said “Isn’t this the place— ?” I stopped you there.

I didn’t want open up old sores,

Unlock old doors, uncage old sleeping beasts.

“Some things are better left unsaid,” I said.