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