The old men at the Cedarbrea Plaza
by
There’s something going on at the Cedarbrae Center.
I want to join in and not be a dissenter.
There’s a group of old men who are really excited,
I’m the same age; I’m concerned, but I’m never invited.
They speak a strange language from far far away,
Smoking with gestures excited as they push to convey.
Are they Greeks, Italians, Turks, Jews or Serbs,
Discussing with twisted vowels and tarnished verbs?
A plot, a plan, a revolution, a war or a riot?
Whatever it is; it’s not being done on the quiet.
What lives did they live what things did they see?
To cause such excitement to the highest degree?
There’s one who stands smart and struts his stuff,
Waves his hands in gestures like he’s had enough.
There’s a tall one who leans to catch every word,
And a small one straight from theater of the absurd.
There’s one who seems to whisper, not to be heard,
And another who looks like a proper little nerd.
What could it be, they’re so excited about?
They’ve been plotting for years, day in and day out.
There’s nothing that exciting happens around here.
No war no riots no revolution and nothing to fear.
I think I’ll sit down and watch from a distance,
In case something happens and they need my assistance.
Mar 5th, 2012
