Drunken Old man
It’s raining icy daggers
And an Old Man totters down the road
His feet crisscrosses as he lurches
From one side to the other
A machete dangles from his hand
His crocus is slung over one shoulder
And although it contains a wee yam
It seems he carries an extreme weight
He stumbles, almost falling, over a rolling
stone
He swears vehemently
Water bleeds brown from the battered felt
on his head
Stinging his eyes to tears
His khaki shirt and pants are stained with
dark spots
And Wellingtons slosh heavily with
collected water
His age ravaged face has seen better days
The hard times are etched in ghastly
creases.
Angered water pours from his face
But not from the rain that beat incessantly
on his sagging felt
He seems unaware of their presence as he
stumbles along
Grumbling and staggering home.
November 21, 2010
Garth Brown
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