At the park,
I sat beside an old man
A crone, a fogey
A father.

His nostrils flared
As he drew all the cool air;
The twitch and the twang
Of his ****** features
Have locked my attention

His neck cracked towards me,
And his gibberish enthralled me
To think that such a man
Can still sound so young.

Can he still be so young?
With his brittle bones
And his nasally nostrils
And his waxy wisdom
That slops off his mouth?

I went back home
And ate a bran muffin
I didn't bother to
Dab it with frosting.

-Juan Carlos Gomez