free cee OLD BLACK JOE WOULDN'T LIKE ANY POETRY BUT FOR MINE

Written by: jeffry cohan

OLD, AS IN OLD BLACK JOE

Like me
Don’t you see?
He was old
With no place to go
Old black Joe
with his old banjo
Old boots
and a very old belt
Old Black Joe was old as he felt
Withered
Weathered
Wearied
Worried
And waiting
Impatiently
Ungracefully
Ungratefully
Ungraciously
Yet he was prepared
Old Black Joe and pity paired
As into the sun he stared
Looking toward the sky
As he wondered why
Understanding that he had no choice
As dissatisfaction would deem his voice
Old Black Joe was shaken
Forsaken
And awakened to what is real
As old as fear made him feel
Unable to heal
Not fearing his last miniscule meal
Yet unwilling to kneel
Wizened to what weariness can steal
Old black Joe was callous
never cautious
Cantankerous
Caustic
And callously cold
Like me,
Don’t you see?
Old black Joe was old
Oh so old
Withered, wearied, weathered and wan
And now Old Black Joe is gone
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