|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
<<
View Prev Image
|
|
|
|
View Next Image >>
|
|
|
|
Stray Frame
There is a long story and a short poem...Aegis follows by popular demand or Mike's asking:
I still don’t remember his name
Even tho he lived down the block
Shovelling snow into the gutter
Just to see it pushed back
Like every one of us:
A suburban Sisyphus.
I still don’t remember his name
Even tho he stood beside his hatchback
Loading it full of paint supplies
To take that summer week or two
Ready to use nature
Like the rest of us.
I still misremember his name
Saying Athos like the Musketeer
As if he would stand by his auto
A paint brush waving into the wind.
I still don’t remember his name
Altho he wrote articles
With an ecological edge
For the Times
And like the rest of us
he walked the rubberized track
To keep the deathworms away
And huffed and puffed with his wife
showing up at the neighbor’s parties
And he would drink wine
As fast as we all could
To drink it in:
Zorbas of the good life
Voices raised inhaling Good Cheer!
And I waited to hear his name
Not asking,not to be rude
And I still can’t remember his name
Altho we saw the obituary in the Times
He had some sort of lump on his back
some sort of depression and
We heard he was a good swimmer
But the wintry Hudson waters
Slowly chilled him
Like good wine
And sculpted his once painterly hands
And wrote his name upon the waves
Waves waves and
Those names we know.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|