Chess

first spring afternoon—

two old men in brown felt hats

playing chess outdoors

Dust

On the kitchen shelf

dust settles in the white cup

like a tired old cat.

almost New Year’s Eve—

in the homeless encampment

an old man’s last breath

first day of winter—

sweeping old leaves from the walk

instead of new snow

autumn afternoon—

walking with my old spaniel

on a well-worn path

choosing a new way

after I lose the old one

among grains of sand

the scarecrow’s old hat—

just enough room in the crown

for mice to snuggle

plastic water bowl

cradling autumn’s first full moon—

old dog drinks his fill

clenching a Jew’s harp

between tobacco-stained teeth—

that old steely twang

cutting winter wood

by moonlight at eleven

old insomniac