A cane in his right hand
his left in a wave that’s
half wave half Charleston
the man is energized frailty.

The picture is tired
exasperated scenery
an old chicken wire fence at left
blurry aged trees surround
but bare no fruit
a world that has lived and been lived in.

This man fits
in a tired world
with stories to tell
he sits
old knees buckled
shoulders slouched and chest caved in
But those hands!
They beg to be heard
to be honored and respected.

Those hands planted the sod on which he now sits
and pushed the manual mower
until the grass was groomed perfection
then applauded as his young children skipped and flipped
“Watch me Daddy! Watch me!

Those hands planted the trees
picked their fruit
and delivered the sweet flesh to his lips
and the lips of his lover wifeas they
lounged in the shade.T

T hose hands built the fence to house the chickens
threw them feed
and held them gently before
snapping their necks.

The left hand
in its half wave half Charleston
yearns to tell these tales
to throw the cane from the rightto push the chair away and
to Charleston once again.

If the left hand was in control
the man would Dance
he would tell his tales in rhythm and song
whole body whole soula celebration of times past.

But these days
the yard is over grown
the trees bare no fruit
the chickens are all dead
and the left hand is just a hand

The man lives and belongs in this blurry old world
a cane in his right hand
his left in a wave that’s
half wave half Charleston
testament to a life well lived.