Poetry: The Shattered Old Man


The shattered old man has had it with wildfires, Covid and the Afghanistan follies.

When first light pierces his eyes, he cocks his gun and squeezes the tigger

From the cheap seats where he’s been watching a prima ballerina land en pointe.

There’s applause but he can’t tell if it’s in front or behind the explosion.  

He gropes for a cup of coffee, unsure if he’s made it.

Maybe he’ll drive the car today if he can find it,

Or, at least shout something out loud.

For he still has free will,

Or, did the Supreme Court Take that away?

The walls stop moving and  

The barrel is not much hotter than a pancake right off the griddle—

A good start to the morning.


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