Auld Lang Syne
       

Few will miss the Old Year,
shuffling down the hall
in pale blue pajama pants,
ragged at the cuffs,

the sound of its gruff,
ungenerous laughter
fading like a lawn mower
running out of gas.

In its place, the scraping
of a Bartok string quartet—
unpleasant but insistent.
And the sky, in all its blankness.

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Copyright © 2021 David Starkey All rights reserved
from The Greensboro Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission