Poem: Method Aging | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine

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Poem: Method Aging

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It seems I've mastered posing,

the deceitful practice of photography

and staying in front of the artist's keen eye.


I've also mastered speech, grasped

nuances of despair and the necessary

arm-flailing to make myself believable.


No worries about aging, no fears

of splicing scenes into another world,

I'm left with only one question:


When will your eyes lift, film me as old?


I never expected to look this way,

neck rough and snakelike, legs

hairless as a Sphynx cat.


Does love only see love

through a special Shakespearean lens?


Now I realize that's one question—

much too hard to frame—

gently set aside for another shoot.

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