the old man reads the newspaper
on top of the sand dune of news,
his feet ~ two, up, one, back,
on his perspective
of things past, when caring meant
something was going to change, and
his viewpoint could change and
could change something;
now
his sigh passes over all,
stirring in the shade the crepitations
of the fallen leaves of a broadsheet;
cold the news but hot sipped the tea.
and me?
well, i looked out of the window,
so as not to intrude.
No comments:
Post a Comment