BROWN FROCK COAT

BROWN FROCK COAT

 

I have offend wondered where all of these

used words go after we speak them

After we chew them and spit each out

like some over ripe peach.

 

What of those truly great words

that once spoken keeps on speaking

for a life time

The ones that are treasured like an antique

Pocket Watch.

 

Do we drown in words and not know it

or do we just watch as they pile up

 like some over used garbage.

 

That is when I saw him

It was no more a glimpse,

 like a rain drop joining a puddle.

He was old, with a stooped back  

dressed in a brown frock coat

 carrying a Burlap sack

He smiled at me as he went about picking up those

discarded words

then he was gone.

 

I’ve offend wondered what he did with all those useless words

Perhaps we just recycle them in poems.