Shrivelling

After the last wife has died,

After the last woman has left in tears of frustration,

I shall sit, bent over, body and face

Not wrinkled as waterlogged fingers, but rather,

Dessicated and shrivelled as a raisin, all juice gone,

Mind crumpled up and thrown away in the trash,

Brain deflated and erratic as a dried-out walnut

To be packed away, hidden away in the cold, unthinking, in stasis,

In the hope that a Springtime of Science will have me take life again and sprout

Up, up, into something a thousand times greater than I was before, or am now.

Published: Ambit 211, UK, January 2013