Old Men/Poets

Old Men/Poets *

Every old man believes he is a poet.

I know this first hand.

Poets cry at the drop of a hat

A young man one rarely does that,

But old men cry over broken, old chairs,

Disappearing hair

Need I go on on that account?

Also, old men can’t hold their whiskey.

I know this first hand.

Poetry and whiskey

Are a risky combination.

A lubricated heart and tongue

With a brain full of sand and fog

He’ll likely mistake

For intellect

And inspiration.

An old man can find a way

Around his every foible,

He is a master of manipulation.

But words have a way

Of twisting on the spit

Of a fellow with more

Than three generations.

His poetry only one place fits,

That’s in his own imagination.

So, if you are inextricably pair’d

With a fellow with graying

Thin hair,

And he whips out a pen

And starts right in

But you don’t know

What he’s saying…?

Picture yourself

With a crinkled up face

And a wealth of knowledge

To disseminate.

Take a deep breath

And a swallow of beer

It won’t be long

Until You Are Here.

* Dedicated to Garrison Keillor who wrote:

“... Readers and writers are two sides of the same gold coin.

You write and I read and in that moment I find

A union more perfect than any club I could join:

The simple intimacy of being one mind”