Old Man Shouts At Clouds
Poetry By Will Dugan

As the screen door silently squeaks
The old man to the front porch sneaks
He shakes his fist and stomps his feet
Nods and winks at apparitions he meets

In his mind there is no rest
There are pundits he detests
He stomps his feet and shakes his fist
Stuck in a rewind of a "that's-wrong" list

There are no whispers - only shouts
Black and white has replaced all doubts
He thinks he knows - his balls are brass
He doesn't know - his head's up his ass

In the clouds, he finds traces
Of idiot words and idiot's faces
He shouts at clouds, but he can't hear
His words are drowned by wordless fear

Copyright © 2009 By Will Dugan