Technically this is not a Sidewalk Poem because it began before I ever left the house. It was that awful moment of the first encounter with a mirror in the morning – and the words “ruined face” came to me. The rest came together as I walked to work.
What is it in a ruined face?
What is it in a ruined face
that makes us want to know
the history that has taken place
to line and shape it so?
‘Tis no young man steals my heart,
although that be the norm.
I like the ripened, wrinkled sort
whose hands are wise and worn,
The road of life is paved somewhat
unevenly you see,
and as I walk the latter half
I’d like to have with me
a traveler who has been abroad,
faced hardship, and is still game
for taking roads less traveled by
while others take the main.
So turn your head towards me sir,
and look me in the eyes.
For I am lonely, and I hunger for
your hands so worn and wise.