The Retired Man
The Retired Man
Dare – I open the drape –
Oh yes – light –
excites me – as you lay at
peace, sleeping.
Sleeping – extending night.
I close the drape – leave –
to run along a shore where
toes are kissed by white
lace – where salt water shifts
shells or swallows them for
another day – in and
out
Here – I listen – I smell sea
air – feel the dampness on my
face – while you sleep as if
you were a retired man
from the red and white motel –
but – he too awakes as sunlight
changes the color of the sky to
a sudden pink horizon. . .
He walks around his property
and sweeps cigarette butts
off a faded – chipped –
redwood deck – his feet
shuffle in morning light.
How gentle are the waves, as
seagulls play – as if
attached to strings – begging.
The old man – he must have
planned this day, as once a
dream, attending to his
property.
To be here, to be sitting –
resting – closer to me –
Closer to where my feet play –
and sink in sand –
The retired man stares at dawn
as a smile lines his face, the
coming of a new day. Perhaps –
remembering yesterday – when
his red and white motel was
filled with company
his bald head – tanned – pants
rolled above his knees, a pot
belly rests –
on his thighs. . .
His eye’s. . . see more than you
who sleeps extending night.
He tosses yesterdays
garbage – inside a brown
paper bag, resting at his feet –
scatters it across
a brilliant sky –
Seagulls flock – flap to
applaud – kiss his hand.
The retired man, he knows when
day is day, and sleeps at night
when seagulls fade.
Lovely…emotive…in my head, I’m continuing his story. Thanks, Nancy.
J.J. yes, a story that continues forever but is so familiar in many ways. Dreams once were, but ended too soon. Sincerely, Nancy