mid century man

his blue pants,
his yellow sweater over
a white shirt,
freshly ironed,
loafers, two toned over
his stretched
white socks,
with diamonds up the side.
a crew cut
from the barber once
a week.
he kept his glasses
perched on his nose, as
if about to
give wisdom of some sort
to anyone who
might pass by, to stop
say hello and
listen.
he was of a different time,
one of frank
and dean, kennedy
and ike,
a mid century man
who knew how to whistle,
how to drink,
who would snap his fingers
to the beat
and dance on
a dime.