Nerozumim

What if you weren't born younger,
If poems were never enough,
If you found yourself walking,
Painfully, with awkward gait

That betrayed you as bizarre,

Somewhere you didn't know
The language enough to joke

And caper a bit to show

You were harmlessly bizarre,
Maybe even a person worth
Engaging with in small talk?
You would be, then, only old
From the beginning and sad
From disarticulation.