Still Here
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*Image of The Old Shed by Pixabay.
Still Here
He was the tourist trade foremost embellisher,
his Aloha shirts receptive then, and
now respecting a closet.
Regale lava-covered isles, swathed in white flags,
succumbed to skyscrapers,
and tremendous crowds.
His chord, an isolated tool, tranced the sways,
encased uke leans on clutter,
a harmonica tags the bestilled.
A kid drilled, backs out a Chevy, to looks of relief.
Rusty toolbox by a heap,
chanced ferns sprouting rights.
On a mat with a bloody nose head back, learns to block,
gloves on a wall...glad to know how to defend,
and glad to have the seldom use of it.
Handheld twirling blade lawnmower, a sickle, and rake.
An old tool shed, shelved three wood handles
minus their mettle, as well as their mentor.
You paid a buck for our house...realtor extraordinaire,
and mom's limited knowledge about land, you
left her the trust and deeds~you both left me.
It has been beyond years, young that you were, a period
I furthered. Gone too soon, yet there's so much
of you still here, that it dawns~you've never left.
*For my dad, Joe; 1931-1989.
2023 January 20
*HM*
You Select
~Brian Strand: Judged 2023 January 21
Copyright © Hilo Poet | Year Posted 2023
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