The Old!.
Back then life was anticipated, dreamed of,
Now pushed around the plate now with portions never begged,
It all becomes more and less!.
No single fly spiced or spoiled the soup more than any other!.
What drive and skill can delay storms!?
Once passed, what cheer can be pulled from the wet earth!?
Silent mornings push back with slow strength
and coffee seems more trouble than reward!.
Radio voices speak to others but not me!.
Through listening, I do not speak!.
Simple clothing,
A noble effort wasted with none to appreciate my modesty!.
Windows, cloudy and stained from wind and soil lifted!.
A telephone, alert but still and hard!.
Meals from cans
And cartons
And bags
And plastic,
And two pans battered and dented by one wooden spoon!.
A single fork used again and again!.
Eating quietly on a speckled table in the dry heat
Thinking thinly for good reason!.
Twilight calls the eyes to darkness fought!.
The bed holds scant comfort
Weeks of slumber would be unnoticed by the distracted!.
The lack of wind can cut you to the bone!.
Memories help!.
Some!.
It was what it was,
It is what it is!.
Any great laughing or howling was done long ago!.
Now is the time of wondering!.
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