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Saturday, January 12, 2013

Uncle

"I left him
sipping the last of his beer,
contemplating the attraction of
the water and how
anonymous the
ducks are
floating on the
wide river."
A long dead uncle
                           stumbled
along the bank and
                             sat
by me on a bench facing
                                     the mighty river. 

Alcohol on his
breath, a can
in his hand,
a lived-in khaki
shirt, and war
stories to share.

He had just
                 arrived
in town,
            off the train, and
was curious about
                            my life, and
                                              my future.

He got weepy
            about the past. 
Said he now knew
what the
            line about
                         rockets'
                                    red
                                          glare
meant. 

He shared the mistakes
                                   of a life time and
offered his almost
                           empty beer. I refused,
politely.

He cried and
                    leaned on my shoulder;
I left him
            sipping the last of his beer,
contemplating the attraction of
                                              the water and how
anonymous the             
                       ducks are
                                       floating on the
                                                            wide river.
------

The Collected Chaff, v. 1.0 
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