The Weight of Our Years
By: Garland Davis
For a time, the old men would tell of years and wars past…
Stories and laughter among a forest of empty bottles
scattered in a graceless pack across the table.
Rain filled the darkness outside the window,
and the tables filled with memorabilia abetted the
desperation with which they yearned for those long gone days.
Reluctant to leave the companionship, once again
found for a few days at the spring reunion
and held close in that bitter pall of tomorrow’s leaving.
But, the thrill of our shared derangement, and stories
true and not that evoked both joy at remembering
and sadness, knowing that one cannot go back.
The old men remain, with their lives caving in around them,
crushed by the weight of years and lost among memories and bottles.