golden years

we talk
of the golden years.
the silver lining

in the dark cloud of life,
but I see a lot of rust.
a lot of metal
corroded and bent.
I see pipes that leak,
faucet handles
that won't turn.
I see red in the water,

the brown halo 

of a ceiling stain.

I hear the sound of air
grumpily exhaling
at night when
the pipes go cold.
we talk about
the golden years,

the easy life

when the troubles end,

when all the work 

is done, but I don't see it.
I put my hand
against the vibration
of the radiator
and shiver at what's

to come.