Mark J. Mitchell

Remembering the Sixties

Time back, way back

It seemed giants would fall.

Way back, just a push

Was all it might take.

Time back, cars had fins

And everything was black and white.

Time back, way back,

That black and white meant more.

Way back, time back,

We saw the world change

And change back. Time back,

Way back.


(Homage to Shem and Shaun)

This is his moment, poised by chance, right here

Between green nows and orange thens. The young

Penman husbands his silence. He'll outrun

Everyone, while staying close, keeping near.

And this is his hope and his only fear,

Pen posed over paper, poised at the post:

What if they don't quite understand his boast?

What if they offer an ignorant cheer?

Since this is his only moment he acts

Anyway, tossing falling words around

Like stale stout, strong and sour and black as night.

Whatever they find, well it's not his fight,

He plants his clues using the tools he's found.

It's his wake. Like cards, he holds all the facts.

Mark J. Mitchell © 2012