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¡Hola!, Octogenarian

by Eric Hinkle

an octogenarian:
rushing worriedly down the
bustling Spanish street,
brushing past people
half,
a quarter,
and an eighth
his age.

his body, too ancient
to let him run,
compromises by
lending him a week's worth
of energy to put on a brisk
shuffle-walk,
like that of a
power walker
(but not as
silly-looking).

his eyes:
tragic like shakespeare,
wide like serengeti.
his face is of a man
who has
just found out
his beloved has been
tied to a tree by terrorists,
left for dead to the desert
vultures and ravens.

on his way to save the world
(or maybe just to find a bathroom
before the contents of his pants
give way to gravity),
knocking into people
with their own grave problems,
he guides his geezer feet
down a side-street,
vanishing from everyone's sight,
fading from anyone's memory.

02/24/2010

Author's Note: stolen from a short story I wrote in october. it didn't have anything to do with the rest of the story, so I severed it.

Posted on 02/24/2010
Copyright © 2024 Eric Hinkle

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 02/24/10 at 03:46 PM

I enjoyed the mystery of why he is in such a hurry, his eyes, his restrained but determined shuffle. Thank you.

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