Raconteur

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

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