Fifteen

He told me
his last 
real conversation was in
nineteen-fifty-five. And that was 
thirty minutes
 .
on the sidewalk
with an interested stranger.
Those that love him
respect his silence,
keep him to a fifteen word
 .
maximum. That allows them
to get along. Silence is the juice
of that loving home.
Everything beautiful is for eyes 
or made for radio.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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