A POEM FOR THE FRIEND WHO SACRIFICED
ʃəˌlɒm əˈleɪxəm, ˌʃoʊləm
Aren’t you that kid
Who plays the harmonica?
The old man
Sitting in the wheelchair
Said
They had told him
That he had a visitor
But he doesn’t recall
Having any at
The nursing home
In a very
Long time
The nurse told
Him it was an old
Friend, a man with
A beard in his late
Fifties in a cap
But the old man
Now near 80 had
Lost much
Memories and loved ones
Books and all the things
That had made him
Him
Himself
Near deaf
And near blind
The loss of months
Weeks
Years
Within his
Own mind
And when
The lost friend
Walked in he could
See the loss
The sadness upon
The old man’s face
And he said:
Well sir.
It looks like
Both of us have
Lost a few things
” But do you remember the words?”
” The poetry?”
All the crowds of
People the voices
In times of
Change?
And the horror
Of how it all went
Down, the battles we
All fought for people?
The ones for all our souls?
Freedom?
But the old man
Just stared into space
With no recognition
No emotion
In silence
But then?
The man in the cap
Pulled out a harmonica
Out of his pocket
And started playing
A familiar song
And the old man
Smiled
And as he
Played a single
Tear ran down his
Face
And the old man
Softly said:
“Thank you”
“For Everything”
And then
Sitting in his chair
Quietly passed
Away
~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2022
R.M. ENGELHARDT 