Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Was it or wasn't it the old poet I passed on the street today? I'm convinced it was but I wasn't so sure at the time. He was approaching with a young couple and as we passed I glanced over behind my shades. Very elegant he looked in his overcoat and cap, if a tad overdressed for the April weather. He was walking very slowly with a cane, an old man's walk. Surely it hadn't been so many years since I saw him last. The little I was lucky enough to publish was due largely to him. A block along I stopped for a moment and looked back. The old poet was peering into a shop window, his hands in his pockets, and as his young friends set off he did the same, a few steps behind them.
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6 comments:
You are a painter.
Yes, you do make lovely vignettes with your words.
But never of still lifes...
i feel like i'm looking over your shoulder.
Was the old poet anyone we'd know? (When I say "we" I mean learned folks, not me).
Like most poets he's only known to a select crowd, and if he gets to be better known, it won't be until he's gone!
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