a farewell.
a long, sad goodbye.
for many years,
he held onto his trangression
and locked it in the gun rack
leaving it in its disposition:
oiled and shined,
loaded and abandoned.
right by the front door, it was
(for everyone to see).
and when it was questioned,
the old man would break down
saying, "in '75,
the morning after the fight,
one man's tear
made a whole nation cry
and the next day,
our preacher kneeled to pray,
but never got back up."
we would nod and then our minds would
drift out the window
because no one ever knew what that meant.
and he'd say nothing else
then he would get up leave.
some say
he was just another troubled, confused last century soldier.
I say he was forgotten.
