Monday, October 19, 2009

Old Man In the Park (written 1968)

Click on image to enlarge

In shy Victoria Park
where the only life left
in decaying October
are dead leaves littering
well-abused lawns
and a lone old man
sitting on a despondent bench.

With an old tweed cap
from the Salvation Army
resting like a bad habit
on his wrinkled head
he sits meditating memories
across the horizon
across writhing Lake Ontario.

Watching from the street
I wish like a child
to sit on the lap
of that magnificent old man
with white whiskers
like thinly spread frosting
on his history-worn face
and listen to the tales
I’ve heard that old men tell.

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