A discarded cloth winks from a corner
awaiting the final shove to its fate.
In a few years it lost its sheen, hubris
whittled away by wear and tear.
It played host to its owner for a time
braving the nuances of vagabond weather
rain, soaking heat or embalming chill.
It knew Time had nothing to reclaim.
Its owner, ever short of care or foresight,
was too besotted with his daily chores
building a life out of the visible avenues.
No thought to spare for a cloth’s plight.
Its clever design or artful artwork
is a contrivance for only a passing notice.
A shred of beauty awaits its own twilight.
The owner’s day too awaits the hearse.
Its prankish wink was lost on the owner.
After all, age is only a fading number.