by John Tinneny
Gerontology by Another Name
Becoming invisible at this staging post
means difficulty getting served in cafes
since I lost definition and have
blurred about my edges
my skin lets light through, I’ve noticed,
so I don’t get the perfect seat with a view of the High Street
anymore.
When did it start they ask,
I’ve seen dermatologists, ophthalmologists,
and an endocrinal woman, although don’t ask me why
I became papery and vague,
my gait and posture went, and I was assessed
creaking like leather and S.O.B. (it said on my notes),
minute adjustments were found through machine learning
then more tests, a cup of tea in each hand for balance,
steady as she goes;
a neighbour watched me off to the shops
turning at the end of the street
you’re walking differently, she said
like you’ve new shoes on new feet,
when asked to write down a record of my decline
I’ll take the flak; people like us lose mass, I’ll say
shed our evolutionary tail stump that no longer has a purpose,
make way for the young, keep schtum,
follow the signs along the long, linoleum, clinical corridor
to find our new taxonomical classification
somewhere deeper in the building.
Brian Comber lives in Worcestershire, England where he writes poems and short stories and has performed regularly at local spoken word events. Brian has had flash fiction published in Black Pear Press anthologies. He has had poetry accepted for publication with Picaroon Poetry, The Beach Hut, The Gentian journal, Re-side onlinezine, Prole Poetry, Selcouth Station, Dear Reader, Wild Pressed books and Contour online magazine. He was a social worker for many years and his work with those experiencing mental health difficulties and with impaired cognitive abilities strongly influence his thinking and writing.
Born and raised in Belfast, John Tinneny now lives and studies in Glasgow. He has been exhibited in the RUA Exhibition and was also a finalist for London Photo Festival’s Seascape competition.