Fighter

Threads blown loose
he holds a fat sign
for passersby
the black lettering
his
personal hieroglyph

its Rosetta Stone
lost

this morning
he assumes the fighter pose
he looks up
at the broad skies
of grey
roaming
clouds

he remembers

he gathers
what he can
steadies his stance

chops

at the air
ferocious

catching their eyes
this one last time

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About David

Prone to musing and to being prone. Father to two, writer, engineer.
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