Uncle Noah

Uncle Noah’s

Corncob pipe

Steams out smoked sagacity

As he tells me;

“Time is a cumbersome leech,

An evaporating haze

Of television snow,

That was a kick drum assassin

Between the weary flickering bonfire

Of heart bowed eyes;

So the penalty of life

Is being alive”.

But, I answer that I’m not so sure;

“For if life is but mangled symphonies

All bruised and tinny,

Shuddering in the thunder

Of leviathan’s steps,

Who would remember

And who could forget”?

But he retorts

Between locomotive puffs,

And wicker chair cheeps;

“The youth of my sun

Climbed and slept

Upon the lazing floors of cloudy heights,

A shelter from fever

And black dog nights”.

And

So I let God whisper something solemn to him,

As I walk away

And

Whatever He said,

Was lost to the wind,

And

Carried away.