The Old Man in his Pick-up with His Pipe.

The days are getting shorter, the moon was anxious to rise. But before the sun sat, the old man in his pick-up was buying flowers for his girl. He drove down the pebbled streets, his pipe securely clenched between his teeth.  The smoke slide out the window and the wind took him back…

To the porch,

where he stood

proud but still

with flowers freshly picked behind his back.

His hand clenched, talking himself out of

a knock, when  the door swung open.

Rose,

swayed back and forth in her newly stitched dress.

Her hair attempted to be pulled up,

but the wind took her back…

To the diner

where she first saw him.

Pouring coffee

on his lap.

She blushed and he winked.

The old man got the flowers on the corner. The leaves were falling, and they crunched under his footsteps. It was cool outside, and he had to turn on the heat quickly, as his hands gripped the wheel. The wind that pushed against the door, took him back…

To the sun setting and the harvest finished.

To his dusty left-footed boots

That made him trip and fall in love with,

Rose,

who sat on the back porch, held him close

against the wind,that took her back…

To that night, when she said I do,

and he did too.

Lasting 70 years of young love.

 

The old man in his pick up with his pipe,

the Autumn breeze so  cool and kind.

Taking him home, to his Rose.

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little / birdie

you broke my wing

but i will fly again.

can i say,

the same

for you?

 

your tongue  tied me in knots

you pushed too hard

and i heard the snap

that limp arm.

 

Can you say,

what you said,

was right?

was just

or kind?

 

i didn’t flinch.

though i could have

probably should have.

Can you say, that

you would have

felt remorse?

 

you broke my wing

but that doesn’t mean

I failed,

it means I will

fly agin.

 

And when I do, I won’t be landing, on you.