Tithonus | CE Chaffin Wherever I volunteer I find myself compassionately pushed to the periphery like trash on a lake. I don't blame the young. I know how I must look to them with my tissue paper skin flaking from too many suns and the flesh-colored hearing aid stuck in my ear like chewing gum, the bad shave and cologne and dentures that stain the angles of my mouth with drool. Mornings when I shuffle in stooped like a question mark, my sharp knees poking through my slacks like coat hangers, I can't help thinking they wish I were a ghost instead of a prophecy.  read about the author Contributors.htmlshapeimage_2_link_0
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commentary | poetry | fiction | chicago | summer 2007