poem – rolling Americana

14 Aug

rolling Americana

an old man

sits
on a deadwood log
underneath
young green leaves
and thick branches
of
a
lazy willow tree


an old man sits –
watching folks go by
and we all
go by
everyday

they might
see him
as they see
a rusted postal box
or
a forgotten yard sale sign

he smiles
through fake teeth
provided by the VA
he served
some years ago
in Korea
and
Vietnam
he wears a blue cap
inscribed with
faded white letters
insignia from the last ship
he called

home

on occasion
a police car
stops
a pink skinned
rookie
with buzz cut
and
perfect teeth
will tell him

move along
the folks
around here
that come out
after dark
are not
gentle

i see him when he rides his motorized wheelchair
one adorned
with little American flags
and
a pink stuffed animal
down Rimpau Avenue

sometimes
he salutes
when he passes
an old stone
cemetery
sometimes
he doesn’t look that way

fear, perhaps
or, maybe, regret
i can’t be sure
i never
asked

if i did
i might not like
his answer

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