The broken record to the bunting

'I thought I’d look different
At this point in my life.
Travel-worn, bearded
Au fait with strife.
(A bedpost notched to Bable?
Some viral escape?
From the knuckling down
The earnt reputation you made. )
But
It was hard to predict
This stasis of aging
That wrought in iron, features
From the shadowy teens.
When I’d peer in the glass
Expecting to emerge
From a chrysalis dewy,
Frail but assured.'

'Guess its trickier than I thought.
To acquiesce with the fiction
That past’s can end
And Start as the cinema taught.'

'The precession across the water
Has not yet begun. Already
Its there on my collar;
The malignant tug of this province
Reeling me out of
Costume.'