Botox.(Poem)

 
BOTOX 
 
   Even a kilo of it 
   won't save your skin now 
   won't slow the bone-licking creatures 
   swarming towards you 
   even as the last sod is lobbed 
 
   And settling your bones 
   deeper inside your dirt doona 
   won't warm you up; it's too late 
   it's too late for anything 
   except for that gadget we call regret 
 
   All those pastimes you thought 
   you would never be asked to axe; 
   reading the paper, eating lunch 
   in the summer air, lying 
   next to your 30-year wife 
 
   Or the woman at work; 
   if you hadn't done that by now, it's too late; 
   and, now that you own no eyes 
   ...