Cenon... Poem by RIC BASTASA

just the same i took the shot
he posed with his teeth protruding to the sun
his half body beside the
clear and calm river
flowing

i was there looking for a man
carrying a plow on his shoulder
muddy feet and
shriveled hair and
furrowed skin on his forehead

but then i was told that he had long died
of tuberculosis
and that he had no son and wife
to mourn for him

Cenon is ok.

but he is never enough
to fill in the gaps of the loneliness
the summing
up of all deprived humanity

he is getting bald
and no one speaks about it somehow