He's improbable, modest -
this protector of the past,
savior of the moment.
Your best chin
comes to rest
on the blade of a razor.
Your perfect hairstyle
lies motionless,
underneath a messy thatch,
a lawn awaiting
the dexterity of his scissors.
He could even get out
the gray weeds if he had to.

Rusty, creaking chair,
last year's conversation,
and Mickey Mantle's photo
on the wall -
we all die
but of few can it be said,
it all dies with us.

About the Author:
John Grey is an Australian born poet, works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in Bryant Poetry Review, Tribeca Poetry Review and the horror anthology, “What Fears Become”with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Hurricane Review and Pinyon.