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A Poem: The Leg Bone 

I keep pulling out my grays
Fighting the finish line
Pretending that the end never gets closer
I am the great evader
With my dark brunette hair
Still purposed with color
Deliciously young and defiant
I convince myself of this
Until the years gone
Start to exceed the ones to come
I begin hoarding moments
Stashing them from no one but myself
Until Iā€™m comfortable with enough
Can look at the supply and feel safe in surplus
Not realizing they are expiring and unspent
Rotting in cupboards of chipped paint
I sit at a table for one on a one-way street
Distracted by a moment with my need to slow it down
To not participate, but rather wait until
The chance has passed and again I sit
Alone at home in a mirror missioned
On a safari of fur ā€¦ poaching grey hairs
And putting on lotions and tinctures
With tiled background I convince myself
The end is a reflection I can choose to ignore.

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