without care

without care

riding a rickety, once red, bike
he pretends it's a palomino
in the old west and his playmates
are like Roy and Gene
two fingers are a six shooter
the clump of bramble is
tumbleweed with outlaws
in black hats behind it.

the years have past
as if a second youth,
he writes, reads and
makes art and ponders.
now his playmates are
bards and sages and artists
they are like Shakespeare,
Socrates and da Vinci.