MUSIC AND POETRY

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
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
sea gulls 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 -

Sea gulls flock - flap to
applaud - kiss his hand.
The retired man, he knows when
day is day, and sleeps at night
when sea gulls fade.


(c)all rights reserved
Nancy Duci Denofio