Anthony John Edwards



Old Men

By Anthony Edwards

 

Outside the old church every Sunday at one

The old men would gather when the preacher was done

While the women would gossip and the children would play

The old men would banter and chew on the day

 

Old Mr. Smith would suck on his pipe

And joke about how “the missus” would gripe

With a flick of the match and a blue puff of smoke

He deep down inside knew it wasn’t a joke

 

Larry Mc Phearson was whittling wood

And talked about sales as a salesman should

He had been a bachelor all of his life

And would that he could have whittled a wife

 

Old Michael Miller stood taller than all

A veteran retired, he’d answered the call

Of long ago battles he could not help but think

So to quiet the memories had resorted to drink

 

When the preacher was finished shaking hands at the rail

He would pass by the old men, with a joke he’d regale

And they all would laugh knowingly, the joke just for them

Would be slightly off color with just a chance to offend

 

Then slowly, but surely, as the sun would direct

The ladies would come, one by one, to collect

Mrs. Miller and Smith came to take their men home

With a wave, old Mc Phearson was off on his own

 

Each man nodded as they turned for the road

Then from the old white chapel, they wearily strode

The minister waved, as he locked the old gate

He would see them all here, next Sunday at eight