Two Photographs of the Same Poet, Years Apart

While I was busy growing up

you were busy getting old,

altered from handsome

dark-haired party Prof

to this sombre grey-bearded power

fixing me from the back cover.

My turn now to watch things move

that should be staying put,

look at the young being young,

refreshed by long nights

in the elements.

There's one good thing

in all of this: my words

resemble theirs

but have more weight,

the strength to haul and hoist

them renewed. Ah yes,

the wisdom versus youth debate,

and I'd broker both

though process perseveres

amid the jokes.

So there you are

smiling, relaxed

with glass in hand -

all those unborn words -

and here, everything

bursting out through the eyes.