There is not a great deal
Of difference between
Golden and Junker ages.
The systems of each
Suffer the same maladies.
Heart condition vs. blown engine
Liver and sun spots vs. body rust.
Leaky kidneys vs. leaky water pump.
Food vs. gas
Doctor visits vs. car inspection.
Broken leg vs. flat tire.
Failing sight vs. broken head light.
Arthritis vs. squeaky doors.
Out of breathe vs. out of gas.
Legs vs. tires.
The list goes on
But in the end
The dirge song
One to the grave
One to the Hong Kong.
Tom Fenning
Sunday, May 24, 2009

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Golden Age vs. Junker Age.

                                  Sharp

                                    !!!

                                  Poke

The Area Pains>>>Inject

                                   Nurses

                                             Aides

                                       Locate

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Itis.

See the man walking down the highway.
He wears only ragged shorts and worn-out shoes.
His hair is long and stringy,
His skin is like leather, beaten by the sun over many summers.
He walks the highway from one end of the lake to the other.
A common sight on any day, he is known as Nature Boy,
But his real name is Paul.
Sometimes he looks old, sometimes young,
Most times ageless.
No one knows where he came from.
Some say he is a millionaire
Who lost his family in an accident.
Now he walks the highway and sleeps by the tracks.

One day I offered him a ride.
He looked into my window,
A scared child, apprehensive, untrusting.
“Paul’, I tried to assure him, “It’s okay.
It’s okay, Paul”.
Hearing the sound of his name,
He relaxed some, and climbed in.
We rode in silence, he, very still, barely moving.
I did not ask him how far he was going,
He didn’t tell me; he didn’t have to.
I had watched him each day,
I knew his routine.
I stopped at the place where he always left the road,
He climbed out, saying nothing,
And watched as I drove away.

He was found by the railroad tracks.
Some say he died in his sleep,
No one really knows.
He was just a character, a curiosity.
But for me he was a person, a brother, a friend.
We had shared a brief moment in time,
In silence, but still we had shared a moment.
I had looked into his eyes; I had seen his soul.
To this day it haunts me.
Who was Nature Boy?
Who really was Paul?

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Nature Boy.