a great-grandfather takes off his shirt and reveals his resemblance to a mudslide
the avalanche of his crepey flesh is offputting to some

his daughter twists her forearm and reveals the ghost of crepe to come
she compares it to her son’s coarse-hair-forested smooth-skinned arm and she sighs

he picks up his baby girl with her micropore blemishless hide
and rejoices in her perfection

a great-grandmother is watching them all with tearmist moistening her spectacles
with a five-word loop in her despairing head:

“the way of all flesh”


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