Retirement of the Birds
by Dave Dussault
With the sun going down like a Claude Monet
The old gentleman sits again on his bench
His squinted dark eyes look out over the water
Like they have many times before.
Alone he sits watching the gulls go to sleep
On the calm glassy mirror of the lake.
His tattered tweed suit he's worn since '49
Still fits him well enough for his purpose--
Watching birds at sunset for endless evenings
Alone on his bench with his thoughts
Reflecting with the rippled sunset sparks
Floating on the lake.
Nobody notices and nobody cares
As he sits for two hours or so
He never utters a word, or fidgets or moves--
But he stares until the darkness comes
And the gulls float asleep.