Two old men sitting on the front porch in wooden rocking chairs,
a hound dog snores at their feet.
They sit gently rocking, silenty watching the world pass by them
on the street.
Before them lay a future they'll never have.
Behind them is the past they barely survived.
Running and hiding; seeking, but not finding the ultimate prize:
amnesty.
a hound dog snores at their feet.
They sit gently rocking, silenty watching the world pass by them
on the street.
Before them lay a future they'll never have.
Behind them is the past they barely survived.
Running and hiding; seeking, but not finding the ultimate prize:
amnesty.
My latest installment in the April 2005 Creative Challenge.
When I was a kid, one of my favourite TV shows was Alias Smith and Jones, a western series about two outlaws who wanted to get amnesty. Despite staying out of trouble like they were told to do by the Governor, by the end of the series, they never got amnesty. I wondered what it might be like for them had they lived to be old men, and this poem popped into my head.
