Thursday, 17 August 2017

Midlife meiosis


I am the fulcrum of a seesaw.
See, on the up side, scions ride.
Saw upon the down side,
there my ancestors bide.
Reminded of the tombstones,
that topple in the ebbing tide,
to shorten the downside lever,
and propel my scions rise, and rise.

As my fulcrum slips towards twilight,
the scions shriek delight,
for down they ride, bump bump down,
as their ancestors drop aside.
Then as the penultimate fulcrum,
slips abject from the pole,
so my fulcrum slips into the night,
as he takes on this pivotal role.

Instead of a fulcrum, it seems to me,
I am now a spindle in a wheel,
for spinning all around me,
are my scions gazing in,
as I peel off into the void.
  Slows down, and slows down,
becomes their seesaw again, 
as another fulcrum strong,
smiles upon its life of strain.

Caterpillar-like this seesaw track,
is making, breaking, unchanging length,
the spring of life on the one side,
as dotages drops off from the ride.

Oh what joy to have been a fulcrum,
to have balanced my time of life.
But, actually, it's a binary pivot,
designed for a husband and his wife.

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