These uniforms may be the last public reminder of their essential sameness -
A quaint official token that their norms have just begun to change.
Shorts and jerseys, soon they'll shed these as metamorphosis accelerates;
They'll paint new garish hues on outer forms to match the inner range
Of rage and vigor, perk and venom just beneath the roiling surface of the skin.
Their shifted, swelling landscapes shudder over storms, and they exude the strange
Magnetic condensation free of toxic sediments built up by fear and sin,
Regret and suffering and loss, of failures borne as their lives rearrange.
Well, so we elders tell them when we practice our clever barometry,
Forgetting that the pressures that transform them into us ever subside with time,
But stretch them almost to their tightest point-
Like shrunken, faded gym outfits that we once wore.
We have no sure idea what it's like to have no sure idea anymore.
I still feel, much of the time, like there's a lot of uncertainty to be had in the world.
ReplyDeleteReally great flow. "we practice our clever barometry"...I remember that all too well!