We all meet ourselves on the streets of life, and so I met the broken man.

Not Nostalgia

This is not nostalgia,
but I used to love the broken man
and yesterday I passed him by
on my way to a business deal
On my way to something
that wouldn’t wait
In a hurry, I know you understand
and there was no time
for the touch on my sleeve
and the hunger in his eyes

This is not nostalgia
because I knew the broken man,
oh so long ago, years back before the climb,
when we talked on rainy afternoons
in a shabby tavern
But I’m so close now, so very close
to the next step up
and the moment’s come quickly
and the deal’s closing-in
and the times are closing-down

This is not nostalgia
that’s a name for World War Two,
Glenn Miller’s band and radio
There are no homeless on the Internet
and it never rains these afternoons
‘Cause I’ve been promised wash and wear,
and no bitter aftertaste
for the touch on my sleeve
and the hunger in his eyes

It’s not nostalgia
so then why this feeling of dèjá
without a comfortable vu
Having been here before in times when
no one turned away,
my father held the door for Mom
and she smiled
A smile wrinkle-free
with no bitter aftertaste
Can’t think about it now, I’m late, gotta rush,
but I know it’s not nostalgia

Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection


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