The rivalling decay

Move aside time so I can feel.

I got invited to a wedding somewhere in your neighborhood
and, as required,  I sprinkled your street
with a few dried steps.

Your street has turned into a sidewalk.
There's bar tables right outside
your house. If you believe,
all that space it took
for a hesitation
to cross and come here starving,
is now being thrashed by a rude
sacrilegious rivalling food smell.

I raise the old habit up the window.
The crevice stands like a wheelie clarinet
in front of the slightly open
and next to it the wall like a cyclops
glares at me with an ugly box.
So you installed air conditioning.
Meaning you drilled beyond doubt
the heat I met you in.
Such modernisms and such transformations.

Βut the blow was waiting for me elsewhere.
Τhere, at how slothfully the memory was stirred
about the prosecutions. How best to word this
just for formality's sake, out of an obligation
the reductions sighed a couple of times.

It seems one gets tired of growing older.
The confrontation arrives
and collapses exhausted, a grown man.

Memory is derived from the word body
exhausted as well, gone are the affliction's past nimblenesses  -
them derived from the word vigor.
The reflexes are slow.
That's why while driving through the nearby pains - manual -
you see it enter naturally
into the opposite lane
and bam hit its head on the wheel.

That's where your eyes will see torture
and not in the small pains the heat experienced
when you were taking it down.

Move aside time.