I Observe An Elder Man Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

with a fishing pole walk along the sandy seashore of the Pacific Ocean toward a promontory composed of jutting boulders. The ocean waves gently sweep though not quite reach them. He obviously doesn't want his white sandals or slacks to get wet nor does he look like he is a fisherman of women, too old for that breathtaking sport.

Soon he finds a suitable place and begins setting up his fishing paraphernalia. From experience I know his positioning must be suitable for wedging the fishing pole and
have a comfortable resting lean-to in proximity if one hasn't brought a director's chair. At this point there is no reason for God's presence who sent a flock of angels, seagulls and

pelicans in this case, to entertain him. The silver-haired, stocky built gentleman raises his
wide brim-hatted head, flails his arms for a second as he falls backward amongst the rocks. I knew he was in trouble since I couldn't see any subsequent appendicular motion. I run to him and look at his carnaged forearms and the dull-witted look in his eyes and

immediately apply my knowledge on how to keep him awake while I can hear behind me someone call an ambulance despite that the man is already growing angel wings. To keep his wits about himself I ask him does he know where he is, what's his name, his birthday,
where he's from. Amazingly his answers match my statistics to a tee. By now the

ambulance arrives with sirens blaring, blinking lights and a team of EMT double-timing towards us. At the same moment, trying to rise, I blabber to my entourage that from where I am I see Russia and Vladimir Putin groping Sarah Palin and if I'm to die what a lovely place and time this would be. Right then I realize that's where the spiritual slant of

my poem will sink.