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Stuck

by Jared Orlando

The older fella keeps hanging around
Stuck in a time, he draws a past with
The waving of his finger, as his knuckles
Crack and skin barely hangs on; he is
Now meeting face-to-face--
With our little generation of "misfits",
"Rebels", in their daily fits of listlessness,
With their feet a little too fast for their eyes
A retrospective appears--
Everything costing only a nickel
Every destination was further away
It was all under control,
And threats more imminent
and pertinent, but we
Little young'ns are impotent,
And irrelevant with picket signs
Instead of Cross pens and
Tongues instead of missiles
He rocks back and forth with the
Beat of the wind, behind his brows
He's recreating sandy trenches and
Pop top sodas, a $.31 gallon of gas,
And thinking this sweet euphoria
Budding from the soft lashes of recollection
Will convert our otherwise shaky knees to the
Stern and balanced ways of old
He says we all just walk in small
Broken circles, staring at the ground
Without taking the time
To tie our laces;
He says a lot of things--
While still, somehow
Not saying much at all.

10/15/2011

Posted on 10/15/2011
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando

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