from the guardians of dementia

he tours the park again

dressed only in the sun


Needs a walker or a cane,

staggers slightly off the path

manly gems swinging wide

one below the other,

curses old gods, farts freely

and smokes long black cigars,

clears his throat of guilt and fear,

hocks it where it splats


“Well, basically, screw ‘em,”

he sneers at honking cars

Let them hoot and holler

and call the cops

for all he cares


“To each our own,

that’s my game —

Naked and alone we…”

he mumbles and can’t

remember the verse


Walks now in his own way,

makes wee under dogwoods,

savors summer on bare skin,

searches for the little boy he was

before he lost the freedom

to be odd