Treasure Island

David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

A Riff on Kevin East's fine Poem: Morris Minor


Young man I do appreciate your kindness at the curb,

So good of you to aid me there without a pleading word;

The indignity of growing old: you become once more a child,

You lack a strong commanding voice, you get by on a smile;

You grow so weak a curb becomes a problematic trial;

You move to lift a feeble leg, an inch becomes a mile;

So thank you for the guiding hand, I practically am blind;

Do you need a lift somewhere, driving clears my mind.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 26, 2013

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