YESTERDAY

YESTERDAY

There is no evidence of yesterday

existing as a place.

Yet we go there often,

visiting old friends,

licking old wounds.

How would the road signs

to yesterday read?

Would their shape and color

be the elongated yellow

of a passing sign?

Or an inverted triangle of white

signaling a merge?

OLD MEN'S EARS

Old men’s ears hang

large and lobed

against grey heads filled with

life’s knowledge.

The words they hear

formed by past years,

echos of experience,

a flood of life.

Old women’s voices,

caress those ears,

accost those ears,

fill those ears

with memories of

dreams once drempt

in young men’s minds.

Don’t box those ears,

outfox those ears,

remember years 

of sound have filled them.

A child's laugh,

a lass's gaffe:

True music to those ears.