Eyes rheumy, ringed with grey
Stare at me, stare me down
But their old fire is gone
Almost gone … age-worn  
I still shrink, but imperceptibly
Outwardly there is no sign
Of being pushed off the line
Off my center, intimidated 
Bullied, silently hated
For that time. Those eyes
Still try to be 
Windows to his reflection of me
Disappointing, different, so unlike
The version I should have been

I look back at him
Even as I feel my own agitation 
Silently
Pull at my edges, wringing at them
Helplessly, I don’t want the drama
I’m too old for that now
He’s older but he doesn’t see
The futility, the lovelessness, 
This rejection of me
I look away, back at my book
Quiet, stoic as calm as can be
Inside another little piece
Of closeness, affection, familiarity
Breaks off into the grey-ringed void
Of distances spanning an eternity.