What once was meant to be a statement—
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart—is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning,
as he walks between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man,
picking up broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories.
by Ted Kooser, from Delights & Shadows
This reminds me of the house in the neighborhood where a few members of the Hells Angels live. Their house is replete with a neon sign proclaiming that they're someone to be reckoned with, but now, as they ride down the hill on their big Harley bikes, one can see they're old men, hearts gone soft and blue with stories.
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