For David Who Lived Next Door
The old man's khaki shorts
Still hangs on a string fastened
to the back of his rocking chair
On the veranda
As the wind blows
The chair rocks noiselessly
I remember poignantly
As the hour drew near
He wore his khaki shorts
Sat on the rocking chair
Gazed upwards
Like one counting the clouds
He mumbled:
Lord, is it it?
Receive my poor soul,
I tried.
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