the grey sandy soil
gives neath footfall
as he hitches up his oversized jeans
and nervously fumbles with his broken glasses
a caricature of indecisive recluse

his worked hands covered in soils
grips and relaxes with the rise and fall
of the conversation
his tattered shirt haphazardly buttoned
has a lone cigarette sticking its bent form
from the lip of the pocket
like the last standing solider
content to remain till his fiery end

the ditch he labours in
stretches back in crooked line
along the fence
deep in places and shallow in others
like a drunken hedgehog making a shoddy home
he stops and looks back wiping the tide of sweat
from his face
and squints against the setting suns
brilliant golden light
mumbles some rational reason invented
and dismisses all concept of repair

this earthen work of the hobbled mind
shall remain into the windswept rain and years
slowly loosing its form
as the world itself shifts in discomfort
but the man himself will remain to memory
forever unchanged
a hearty laugh rich with the
earthen tones of life well lived
a man that remains forever in sunlight
a man among men
my friend