"Cane"

by Stephen Sangirardi
aka stephenking



When a man walks with a cane, he’s always watching
The ground.
God forbid he should start stumbling
And fall on his face. Or worse, if he can’t get up
And people stare at his plummeted throne.
Should he tumble, there’s no turning back
And inevitably he will smack his face,
Or sprain his wrist, but always seeming the clown.

So he watches, each slow step a venture,
As though land mines were below his feet
Ready to blow on the perilous ground.
Thank God for the walls and the furniture
In his home. But walls run out, sooner or later,
When he’s beyond the bound of his house, alone,
And his cane taps out a cadenced sole.

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