What once was meant to be a statement—
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart—is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories.
So, Karen is hosting Poetry Friday, and I had to post one of my favorite Ted Kooser poems that was short enough to post here....if you aren’t familiar with Mr. Kooser, please go get one of him books....now. He is a past Poet Laureate and amazing. I sent him a few of my poems, I got back a handwritten postcard saying, “Hey, you know, I am sort of busy being a poet here...nice of you to write, but read my book, and you’ll hear what I would say to you anyway....read and write poetry...a lot.” Isn’t that great? I’m just glad to get some response....gosh, it used to be The Police, now it’s some old poet....I’m getting old.
Thanks, Karen, I wouldn’t have seen this but saw your reminder on Twitter.....cool!