it was this robust guy, a regular guy and me
chewing Chinese dishes and each's past days;

the fat one, 65 is 49% retired, 51% employee;
the regualar guy: waiting decisions from work.

me, too busy eating to wait on them, their life.

i sailed, wingless, a forest fire leaping tree
to tree, until all is consumed, digested.
sallow is our lives lived fallow are lives due
as grandchildren danced in our pupils.

my work, is just in it's tri-mester of life
and would maim me to put it in a halter, now.
now, when my eyes are open, my mind clear
i take Wisdom for a walk, we trade words.

left in a light tan duster, he walks away
throwing pieces of eight, doubloons of worth
over his shoulder as though it were salt.

i s'pose even Widsom needs Luck.

04/22/2008

Posted on 04/22/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan