The Older Man

The Older Man

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I had a certain
Older relative
who was a man
Of passions,
Somewhat charismatic,
Who had no time
For tears,
Except perhaps
In private.
No one really ever knew.
He frequently
Called his martial heart
a whore,
And was concerned
With what he called
the little
Man
And thought
That little man
was quite a bit
More
than consequential.
A man of action and
Of no fear
He had blazed trails alone,
Opening ways for others.
He believed real men
Had broad shoulders
And narrow waists
And was often
Prone to a savage
resolve.
He and I,
We had an unspoken
Bond, never quite revealed,
but only in the odd
sideways glance,
That never faltered much,
That once might have released a tear,
But did not,
Only a side
Crossing of his
Arms which
sometime
Later
I realized
was as close
To an embrace
As it would ever come.
I have made friends
Of such men
at times
Not realizing
That I was always
leaning back
To him.
He passed away
Unable to do very much
but barely breathe,
And I remember
I told him
He was loved.

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