The promise of summer was everywhere
this morning, even in the rivers that
fell out of the sky during the night
that flooded my back yard. I walked
down the street to the newsstand
to pick up my daily dose
of disappointment, and I met an elderly man
with a small oxygen tank
muttering to an old dog he was walking
in the park. he was a friendly enough old guy,
and I asked him how he was
doing, and this is what he had to say―
'when I look back over my life, I'm
reminded of the tattered
laundry I've seen on inner city
clotheslines, or the old license plates
you sometimes see nailed
to the wall of an old man's garage―
they all have tales to tell with their
patches and their dents and their rust
and their scratches― ephemeral,
you might say, but not a whole lot
of use to anyone, anymore.
that's about all I can tell you, son―
and what about you― how are you doing? '
Bert Bell 2016
am doing just fine sir a little bit chilly this morning and rain too... those paper stock in my glove compartment has lots of stories too..very nice poem you have here sir thanks
Unending journeys down the memory lane is, no doubt, a compulsion of the old age and old people try to derive joy and satisfaction through them. A beautifully penned realistic write. Thanks for sharing.10 points.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh yes, this is a grand poem. I feel it, deep, in the region of the soul. Very, very well done Bert. A 10-plus in my book! ! !