John-Ward Leighton

YESTERDAY’S MAN

Photo ©Copyright D2009 by John-Ward Leighton I’m not the man I thought I was,
yesterday, the life, the cause,
means nothing in the day
and as Leonard has said
I ache in the places where I used to play.
The day has dawned much like any other
with thin clouds and Robin’s egg blue skies
but like a baby bird who has just shed its shell
nothing out there makes any sense.
I awoke from dreams
and nothing in this day is what it seems
it’s all like a road show version of hell.
I dreamed of wrapping packages
dressed in an old moth eaten sweater
but nothing would stay in its box
I couldn’t seem to do any better
and I was frustrated in a welter
of tape and Xmas paper.
My scaling elbows resisted
the salve
and the season of dried out skin
began to itch and bug me again.
Yesterday’s man went to sleep
with nothing on his mind
and no promises to keep.
Today’s man worries
but knows not why
there is an apprehension
about how much can possibly be done
before he dies.
I will do what I can
but sure wish I was
that untroubled

yesterday’s man.