El Tur

by Marc Mangel

 

Old man, old wanderer

arrived with slowly dragging feet

making trenches in the sand

in the empty village

today

 

once boisterous and joyous

smelling the sea and

vibrating life

babies

sweat

good smells of fine food

cool red wine in early evening

 

now all are gone

as if a mist

floated across the water

leaving only shells

crumbling about

each other

no longer supported by

the gyrations of life

 

Old man, old wanderer

bent over and brown

like the sand

a baked old man

fearlessly feeling brave

a wide traveled hero

although others might

call him beggar

lost youth

fighing to surface in his face

wrinkled

but eyes still sparkling.

 

Old man, old wanderer

in a crumbling town

on the water

the boats rotting

boats that once were food

and clothes

and television (unfortunately)

boats now becoming

kindling

houses slowly falling to ash

occasionally an animal

moves a door

shutter

a lonely welcome sight

 

Old man in a crumbling town

an outpost for his journey

to forever from forever

a visitor

a guest

for an empty town to love and fondle

a joyous break from

the monotony of waves on

the beach but empty sounds

perhaps they

fit toegher.

 

June 1973