Hilary Biehl

Without a Pause
 
Time stomps downstairs
in his yellow suit,
his hair gone silver
at the root.
 
“Now, won’t you have
some tea?” I say.
He waves a hand –
he mustn’t stay,
 
his feet are lead,
they drag him on
as steadily
as coaches drawn
 
by an old nag
whose face is turned
away from something
small and burned.
 
“All right, goodbye,”
I’d like to say.
Instead I trail him
through decay,
 
trying to marvel
at winking dust,
the smell of moss,
the taste of rust.

Hilary Biehl’s poems have appeared in Blue Unicorn, THINK, Able Muse, and elsewhere. She lives in New Mexico with her husband and son.