The Monument [ Memorial Day, 2004]

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paper towels, napkins, handkerchiefs.



acoustic [nylon strings] guitar, harmonica solo where appropriate.

Some old guy sitting on a park bench,
next to a monument,
both worn out by time.

You can see,
the worn places on the stone monument,
where hands, for many a year,
have touched it,
in remembrance,
of times gone by.

The sharp edges,
at each corner,
now worn smooth.

The monument doesn’t have much on it.

“We Remember”

The old man got here,
on a long bus ride,
through small towns,
some desolation,
deserted small town,
some woodlands,
some farm lands,
and a few cities.

The rain drops falling,
and flowing,
across the old man,
and the monument.

Nobody paying attention,
to either one,
not today.

The park is mostly silent,
cars whisper by,
on the rainy streets,
its a couple of days early,
before the parades,
all is quiet,
nothing much,
going on today.

[ exit]

Categories Poetry, Memorial Day


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