The Senile Brigade
I have become
For every teller
Of tall tales.
For every set
Of tired legs
Looking for shade
And a chair.
For every recipient
of a monthly allowance
From Uncle Sam.
For every old timing man
Smelling of cumin
And old spice.
For all the senile citizens
A little company
And a kind word
While shooting the breeze.
The senile brigade.
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Comments about this poem (The Senile Brigade by Juan Olivarez )
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