There Stands Another Refined Man
© 1989, 2016 J. Mark Witters
There stands another refined man. With one foot in water, the other in sand.
Clutching a photograph of his faded; sordid past...
One time, he thought he was invulnerable.
There skulks another by the wall. Not a single thing could she recall.
Ravaged in the passing time. Once, a blossom on the vine.
Now withered and drifting toward the ground.
There lies another motel room. Check-out time cannot get here too soon.
Those four walls have seen it all. Both on the rise and fall.
Leaving the same demolished bed.
There's a scarecrow scattered in the ditch.
But can you tell which is which?
Pretty soon, it's blown away by the unsuspected play of the innocents at large.