The Old Man Drew the Line Poem by Carl Rakosi

The old man
drew the line
for his son,
the executive:
"I don't want you spending money on me!
(not as long as there are fathers)",
the line ageless
as the independence of time.
Musters tears
and overflows
the inner ear,
yet does not matter.
It can not cure frailty.

I seek him
who will seek me out
and will believe
what I do not believe
(that is my frailty).
"Sit down here with us,"
he says,
"You don't have to impress anyone.
Here is my hand.
Your age is of no significance."
Ah!
I move closer to his mouth
and look into his eyes.
I do not avert mine,
there is no reason to,
or retreat
into a kindly smile.


Ah, companero,
you were born
on the wrong day
when God was paradoxical.
You'll have to
find yourself an old dog.