Still Life
for Richard Wilbur
That roller blader might be past it –
I’d put his age at sixty-five –
and yet he scudded past so fast it
made me glad to be alive.
His hair was surf. His cheeks were leather.
A happy smile still creased his lip.
Enjoying almost perfect weather –
one hand resting on his hip –
he took the time to look around him,
yet gave no sign of slowing down
for anyone. I’m glad I found him
visiting this part of town.
Such elegance. Such sure control.
Bless his spirit! Bless his soul!

Duncan Gillies MacLaurin

If you have any comments on this poem, Duncan Gillies MacLaurin would be pleased to hear them.

Snakeskin logo