Those old men on the park bench, over there by the maples speak in tongues of yesterday's thunder to stem the coming tide. They smile and gesture in faux levity while the water laps at their heels, as they erect optimistic dikes, until sundown cloaks each with the fear of his own tsunami.
Those old men on the park bench,
over there by the maples
speak in tongues of yesterday's thunder
to stem the coming tide.
They smile and gesture in faux levity
while the water laps at their heels,
as they erect optimistic dikes,
until sundown cloaks each
with the fear of his own tsunami.
02/15/2005
Posted on 02/16/2005Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce
"Old friends, sat on the park bench like bookends." You capture that beautifully gloomy mood-death waiting in the wings.
I agree with the above comment. I clicked on this expecting something else...something generic and overwrought. But this floored me. Well done.
Metaphorically quite effective Jane. Message received loud n' clear. Excellent!
