Tobacco smell fills the air
The back and forth of the old rocking chair
As he subtly asserts his patriarchy
The smell of tobacco and the old rocking chair
Were synonymous with his presence
On the verandah
We Jostled for front row seats
The multitude of eyes and ears gathered at his feet
Hanging on his every word
The verandah was our cathedral
We were enthralled by him
We would return summer after summer
For his mouth to ear stories
Of the mythical rolling calf
You just wanted to be in his presence
He was magnetic
I wish he could return
To fill the vacant chair
To bring back the multitude to the verandah
A new generation
Now, the only movement of the rocking chair
Is the passing wind
And claims of his presence
The Novice Poet