Poetry by Charlie Gould

THE BEING

I look in the mirror,
And see staring back,
Some sort of stranger-
With eyes dressed in black.

Her hair is a jumble
Of stringy thin strands,
That feel rather different-
When run through with hands.

Who IS this strange Being
With eyes oh, so old?
Whose skin is all wrinkled-
And whose fingers are cold?

And then I remember
That stranger is Me!
Just thinner and weaker-
From treatment for "C".

And so I just chuckle
At seeing myself,
And reach for the headwrap
I keep on the shelf.

And tying it up and around
Oh, 'just so',
I wave to The Being-
And off we do go!

--Charlie Gould*

*"Works and plays well with others, and does not eat his young."