Treasure Island

David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

Old Rusted Truck


He sat in his old rusting truck
Feeling his age, and out of luck;
To his daughter-in-law
An impossible burden
No longer allowed
To get a word in;
The revolver that he got
In the Korean war
Lay on the seat beside him;
This knobby hill
Such a tranquil spot
To shoot himself and die in;
He lit his final cigarette
And sucked the rich smoke down
An old man who had few regrets
With no purpose to hang around ?

Submitted: Thursday, October 31, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 31, 2013

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Comments about this poem (Old Rusted Truck by David McLansky )

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  • Krishnakumar Chandrasekar Nair (11/1/2013 6:15:00 AM)

    We are destined to be old rusty trucks
    After a million miles on life's highway
    Obsolete models with no fuel or luck
    Just eyesores with wheels and tons of rust........

    Great poem Sir and welcome to my page too (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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