Old Retired Joe - 100 Days Poetry Challenge Day 10

Old Retired Joe

The door was left open
as with every other night
It was a small town, every one knew
the neighbour next door. A quick inquiry
would reveal their daily routines

So he asked

Mr Joseph would spend nights
at the verandah, wearing a green
pajamas or the grey he thought fit
He always sat on the cane chair
rocking as he drank from a glass

The coarse voice from the radio
never ceased to amaze him
He would mention men fighting at Syria
The storm as it swept through California
The outbreak of a new disease

But it was not the news

It was the voice, guttural. Sea breeze
unapologetic, scraping the bald of his head
In another life, it had brushed past him
Two forces going either ways
when he had legs, that nicked him
The antelope.

He, who danced around contenders
He, who many had called lightning
"A spark of brilliance", a commentator
once screamed. That same coarse tone
Now used on the radio.

History they called it, forgotten
with the tides. Now from a corner
A stranger had moved, the mop stick fallen
The plop it made, like a gun going off
He should have fled that second, the stranger

Cause when Joseph came in
He moved with the grace of a cat, grabbing
For the sack. The intruder was quick
Swinging the sack for Joe's head.

Lightning Joe

For a man his age, he was athletic

Joe withdrew a leg, side stepping
Same time his left fist rose, cutting an arc
There was a satisfying crank,
of teeth gnashing, bones cracking
As the fist connected, with a jaw.

The intending burglar
dropped like a sack of beans
And so he remained, till he was aroused
by sounds of shuffling feet
Of voices, discussing how best
to lift him to the car