What the Years Do to a Man

His slouching shoulders bear
a chip so large that even all the love
in your heart (a quantity alike to the levels
of saline solution in the pacific seas)
combined with all the patience in his could
never quite fill it up right, like patching
up potholes with sand - every time you drive
over that sensitive stretch of road, the damage
digs an inch deeper and spreads spiderweb cracks
across the healthy pavement. You're riding along
nice and easy, on a sweet Sunday cruise down
some freshly-asphalted avenue when you come
jarring up to the edge of the roadwork and slam
your head into the roof on the dropoff without
even a sign to warn you. And you know that no matter
how many times MDOT comes out with a fresh load
of blacktop to resurface what's been
irreversibly worn, there will always be
that snag in the continuity of serenity
where some jackass floored it out of spite
and out of revenge.