Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 25, 2014

Daily missive for Tuesday the 25th of November.~by Peter Forster


 

 

Daily missive for Tuesday the 25th of November.

Sometimes,
Away from the lights
And noise of the city,
In a quiet corner,
Dark and dirty,
Behind the trash can,
Sits an old man,
Wrapped in clothes
He found in a black bag,
Stacked in the doorway
Of a charity shop.

He waited until after
The high class gal
In the fur coat
Made the last drop.
She looked good,
Walked with a sway,
Even stopped to check the faces
Of the guys in the line.
He got close enough
To smell her perfume.
It was familiar,
And he ducked back,
Out of the line of sight.

It triggered a memory,
Of times when he carried
The finest malt,
In a hip flask made of silver.
They drank together,
She and he,
Under the stars.
In the distance,
The sound of trucks and cars,
Going about their business,
But they were
Lost in their own world,
And it felt good.
A different time,
When he was immortal.

As he looked back
On his life time,
Something he
Tried not to do,
He had nothing to show,
But that battered old flask.
He had it wrapped,
In a brown paper bag,
To keep it safe,
From the wheeler’s
And stealer’s,
Who would fleece him down,
If only they knew,
What he was hiding,
Along with a photograph
Of her,
And a diamond ring.

They lay together,
In the back of a watch case,
An old, gold Daniels,
With a broken face.
It was nestled in the folds
Of a torn silk scarf,
And stashed,
In the lining of his jacket.
Close enough to touch,
Without needing
To unwrap it.
He was frightened,
He would be tempted to sell,
But without their reassurance,
And the memories they held,
There was no doubt,
He would surely die.


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