The Oldest of One

I’m the youngest of seven, the oldest of one,
a paradox past understanding;
the oldest of five that I wed on the run
while fleeing the market street landing.
I’m naked, inside, as the eyes of a clown
and cannot believe what I've told you…
but such as this can’t keep the tongue in me down
my ignorance needs to enfold you.

© Copyright 2006 W.D. Neighbors