Monday, January 26, 2009

Another old man

Another old man with a suitcase
stands at the interstate ramp
his grin has a glow in the twilight
his cap and cigar in his hand

and he wears a mystique of adventure
as if having nowhere to go
is only a door that is open
instead of a door that is closed.

In winter he wanders the city
he holds in his bare weathered hands
a map to a meal and a shelter
a night in the nobody land

where nobody lies in the silence
of curses that nobody hears.
The echo on asphalt is kinder
the street is no stranger to tears


Mary E.Carey said...

Nice poem! I like the bittersweet tone and the opening line.

Unknown said...

Thanks, Mary.