The old men at the Cedarbrea Plaza
by
There’s something going
on at the Cedarbrae Center.
I want to join in and
not be a dissenter.
There’s a group of old
men who are really excited,
I’m the same age; I’m
concerned, but I’m never invited.
They speak a strange
language from far far away,
Smoking with gestures
excited as they push to convey.
Are they Greeks,
Italians, Turks, Jews or Serbs,
Discussing with twisted
vowels and tarnished verbs?
A plot, a plan, a
revolution, a war or a riot?
Whatever it is; it’s not
being done on the quiet.
What lives did they live
what things did they see?
To cause such excitement
to the highest degree?
There’s one who stands
smart and struts his stuff,
Waves his hands in
gestures like he’s had enough.
There’s a tall one who
leans to catch every word,
And a small one straight
from theater of the absurd.
There’s one who seems to
whisper, not to be heard,
And another who looks
like a proper little nerd.
What could it be,
they’re so excited about?
They’ve been plotting
for years, day in and day out.
There’s nothing that
exciting happens around here.
No war no riots no
revolution and nothing to fear.
I think I’ll sit down
and watch from a distance,
In case something
happens and they need my assistance.
Mar 5th, 2012
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