As the dark figures enlarge through the thick fog, He walks towards them, Alone
and sheltered overhead. Slowly paced, and soggy footed, he arrives. He is unable
to speak or think straight. As he slowly lowers his head something catches his
eye. He peacefully stares; Stares at the beautiful flowers. The flowers he and
his wife planted along their fence. He could still remember the aching pain of
his sore, middle aged back, The smell of his wife’s worn out,
one-size-too-small gloves as he took them off for her, And watching the huge red
sunset as they held each other in their aching arms. They made love that night.
From that day on he knew she was the one. That was a beautiful day, he thought.
A loud morn awakens him from his daydream. He forgets where he is for a while,
but soon remembers. He still cannot believe what is happening. To him it seems
unreal. Still with his head down, he is afraid; Afraid to look, Afraid of what
he might see. Confused, he begins to wonder. He searches for an answer. He had
not accomplished what he had planned. As the man with the white collar speaks,
he looks up. Still somewhat sceptical of the spectacle, He is afraid; Afraid to
listen. He is afraid of what he might hear. Still with his confidence, he
awaits; Awaits for the name of inevitability. Out it comes. A name which he
remembers to have known his whole life. A name which he cared so much for. A
name which he stood by, through thick and thin. A name which he called his own.
He wants to feel sad but is curious. He wonders who cared. He looks up, All in
black, Except for the one in red. Tight Ass Fender, was its name. Guitar
strings, was its game. “You know the ones in the black pack?” “I’ll get
them when I get back.” All I needed was the last string So I can play and I
can sing. “Yes, yes” she said “I’m going out. I’ll buy this thing.”
Monday night she went out She had to go that way too! She came back early, With
a pack of blue. “Bring then back!” The Old Man Who Scared Me When I Was
Little I went outside to play that day, With my mom by my side, by the way. I
slid down slides and played on swings; Every time, I played with those things.
On a bench to my right I saw a man, old but bright. He had skin that seemed like
brown construction paper, And hair as white as snow. He had these dreamy eyes;
But why, I’d like to know. He seemed so helpless wearing that old man hat, And
that red flannel shirt that made him look fat. I wondered what he was doing
there. I wondered what was going through his mind When I got a water gun, And
wet him from behind. Before my very eyes He got up and said “Grandson.
You’re dead!” He then chased me around, Like a fun little fray. Slowly
gaining on me like a tiger on its prey. I could stand no more so I had to say,
“Okay, okay!” We stopped running and turned to each other. Red now replaced
his brown paper face. With sweat pouring down his cheek he said to me, “In a
race, you would win first place!”