As I age, my skin becomes a hair-shirt,
A nexus of itches, blemishes, and sores,
And veins bulging like long blue earthworms
On wrists and hands with brittle digits;
Reddened scars reveal where precancerous
Keratoses grew, and skin cancers too,
And my right earlobe is brand shiny new,
Born after squamous cells had ravaged the old,
And the surgeon who'd scalpeled it away
Fashioned a simulacrum from healthy
Remaining skin. Varicose veins mar my calves,
Making me an embarrassment at the beach,
And so I seek shade to spare my ailing envelope
And coat my sad skin with unguent to help me cope.
*Latin: hair shirt
George Held