Old World

Every man yearns for the old world
To sit in a public square eating cheese
To feel the grit of stirred dust
From the graceful prance of the matador

To play chess, smoke cigarettes
Drink from a demitasse
To end up as an old man
Overly dressed for summer

Old men, friends with other old men
Longer than can be recalled by either
Old men sitting on a patio
Talking of knife fights

They revel in words and phrases
With spotted hands, pour milk into tea
Conversations of Christ and music and art
Words said just for hearing, omitting meaning

Meat is bland now, too easy
Give me the old world
A whole animal impaled on a spit
A taste of time taken and present forgotten

There is nothing of it in me
I am all cellophane and powdered milk
All bloody meat on Styrofoam
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