Old Man’s War
Tired.
It’s an old man’s war now.
My neighbor walked to the U-Haul place this morning and about an hour-and-a-half later drove back in a large U-Haul truck and a couple weeks worth of groceries.
I find this strange.
For several reasons.
It’s complicated.
I really can’t talk about it.
I know this is a poem but
this is not a poem
so I really can’t talk about it.
You want to know, don’t you?
You really want to know,
you have a right to know
because,
after all,
this is supposed to be a poem.
Still,
some things must be left unsaid.
Many things, perhaps.
I don’t write poetry.
If I did,
you’d damn well know it.