Paper Chase

He visited again last night,
a paper bag of well-wrapped chances
rustling on his candle knees.
That cough which could be nothing,
and P.P.P.S. letters on light green paper
that full-stopped in ‘93.

“How long will you stay?” you ask,
with paper-thin nonchalance.
For you have many plans;
to travel, to study, to love and be loved.
to carve your name in hearts,
and other suits.
To find your beauty,

He smiles and slowly shakes his shaggy head.
“I’ve been busy,” you explain.
“The kid, the kids, the other kids,
the job, the jobs, the job,
the paperless paperwork,
my breadcrumb trail of afterthoughts
lost in the assfull jungle.”

He puts an arm around your shoulder
and you feel two months younger.
“When will I be old?” you ask
“when will I be too old?”

He told me
He told me that
He told me that I talk too much.