A Universe’s Last Cruelty

by Shaun Terry

Depressed Old Man

Fusing with acidic upholstery
in his dark, rustic salon,
the ridges and ravines
between sagging, ever-glowering features
tell a long, loveless story.

He reaches,
like a seagull in cane,
for his rocks glass
(single-malt scotch)
next to the bitter ashtray.
But his arms,
of pale, melting butter,
had grown calcified and feckless.

He’d been a proud man:
an ineffectual lapdog,
full of yap, full of yang,
devoid of wisdom
and its most valuable product.

He’d been to paradise,
lapping in warm breezes,
glowing in glittering golden sunrays,
living with the most tender companion,
on nature’s sweetest nectars,
fooling himself into thinking
that he longed for something more.

In the back of his mind,
he’d always known himself
to be a fool.
The wait wouldn’t be long now.

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