Cookie Crumbs

Fragmented beard and newsprint nails

Clinging to a coffee mug

With the necessity for all nuclear guidance

Gone by the way of air mail

Flashing that old smile

At the girls in the cafe

Just like the one he used years ago

On the wife who

Has lost her giggle and gleam

Along with the denim

And pearly whites

Once too much for anyone to resist

Now she brushes her horse

And smokes behind the barn

Commiserating with the girls

Who are really no longer girls

But dulled finishes on

Jeweled personas

With emptiness inside

They all empathize, not out of true compassion

But because they all have shadows

That trail behind their walls

As he sits across town

With his bloated belly

Deeming himself ageless

He gives the girls in the café

Who are really little more than girls

That old smile

Not because he thinks it’s old

But because he thinks it makes him young again

And they all have that sheen that he once

Admired in a coffee cup reflection.