Rusty Key


He stands like a crooked smile
wondering if they know
that it is not really a smile.

Feet that often feel
too big for walking.
Tripping up his progressive motion.

His head bobs along in time.
To music that scores his soundtrack
doesn’t everyone have one
to keep time with life’s rhythm?

Old shoes with older memory
reminders of faded footprints
faded wounds and renewed joy.
Your sole is showing.

Timeless, his hands.
As he once again rumbles his hair
standing outside his standing
looking for sunlight patches.

He stands like a broken arrow
uncertain of his aim
somehow praying for a target
to bow his smile into being.

Published by Bexley Benton. (Pen name)

I am B (call me BB and I will gut you) I like daisies, books, and men who understand the wisdom of Kermit the Frog.

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