A GROUP OF OLD MEN June 5th 2012
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.
June 5th, 2012
