Senescence

Senescence 

I watched these two kids playing  all through the humid juneday
twisting, shuffling, jolting, just as freshly as yesterday,

 catching their own laughter with mason jars
The purple curtain spilled from crowded clouds

over their hopscotch boxes  and drained the chalk
from the sidewalk, swirled skylight fallen into dusky gutters

I thought about how life has wetly erased the lines
I’d never cross while I stayed up through the adult

night and howled a symphony into an emptied jar:
in the slurred morning, some misbegotten tune.

I wonder if those kids ever wake up
to find their brimming  jars gone sour—

by: L. Raymond Andrews