The Adventure

The Adventure

An old man
grayed with age
timid,
patiently waits.
Time
He is slowly
Shrinking.
Furrows deepen
In an expression
Less face.
He waits
Still waiting
And clocks rhythm ticking
No longer in his brain.

A child’s sharp cry in the distance
Does not turn his head.
A
bird
floats by

And wind caresses the old man
While he waits.
He is covered with dust,
Like a souvenir
From the World’s Fair
Mostly useless (except faint memories)
Covered with dust.

He stirs,
Painfully comes to life.
Stands
Andthebusdoorswingsopen,athousand childrenracepast
Cheering race wreckless
Past the waiting old man.
No dry curse passes his lips
Sweatless hands finger dull dry coins
And the steps are mountains
And on a stiff bench,
Sitting at the top, he knows.

February 9, 2010 1:49 PM