Elegy

This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time. -Fight Club

I arise from bed.
I look into the mirror…

I see my father’s dull, work laden eyes,
my mother’s tense, blue spheres staring back.
The gray silhouette of a contact,
correcting failing vision,
burning over bloodshot eyes.

I see my father’s chipped teeth.
yellowing with coffee and cigarettes.
grinding through the night,
pushing and shoving each other outwards.

I hear the raspy morning cough.
see the hand covering my mouth,
I see what it cups.

These hands, worn like my father’s.
Scars span the knuckles,
stitch marks tattoo the thumb.
Calloused paws made for work.

I dream of,
I yearn for,
the past.