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Listen to a poem from issue #90.


A 90 year old man
sat on his walker in the cereal aisle
an aisle so long
so comically, absurdly
so grotesquely long
he had to rest
his old American legs

He was hairless
possibly from cancer treatments
but his eyes shined
battles and wits
an eternal youth of sorts
like an old bull elephant

I approached him because
I liked him very much
he was a fighter
he wouldn’t be caught dead
on a scooter-cart
neither would I
me and him would rather crawl
than use the scooter-cart

Hello sir
I said to him
and he looked up at me
with a wide
a smile that can only be cast
by a man who has dodged bullets
a smile by a man who has dodged them
on a beach in Europe

He looked at me with his
smile, with his connection,
his wisdom that was drilled to
the center of the Earth
and he said
Too many choices aren’t there?

Far too many choices sir.

I remember when there was just
Corn Flakes and Wheaties.

That sounds fine to me.
I told him.
I asked him if he needed anything:
Need me to reach a box
Guard you through the door
Set this place on fire
Start a new nation
Anything sir, what will it be?

He replied,
I’m heading to the checkout.
Carry on young man.

–Alec Binyon

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