the old lions reading newspapers

we see

each other on the street,

in the stores

pushing

our carts.

we're in the coffee shops

reading

newspapers,

we're getting

the oil changed

in our cars

and trucks.

we're wondering book

stores.

we're men of a certain

age,

wearing the uniform

of retirement.

khaki

shorts and long sleeved

shirts,

ball caps

and tennis shoes.

we look at each other,

and neither nod

or say hello.

but we see each other

just the same.

this old army of men,

lions of the world,

now defanged,

now slow.