by Richard L. Provencher
7/14/2010 / Poetry
From his Seniors Home
window an aged man smiles
a kid of twelve, stepping
over limbs beside the creek
blue eyes still bright and
inquiring, an eager boy under
wrinkles of flesh
speckled trout, sweet
smells of summer calling--
twitch in his willow pole,
clunker of a catch
mouthing the dew worm
ma noticing well-traveled jeans,
"Need washin'," always said
mud-caked from sunny
days on old Ogden's Creek.
Memories, never shy away.
Richard L. Provencher
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