Mad old mad wrong
wall hanger of a man;
mighty weary worry wart,
soldier in a dogged war;
finding himself forgotten by
digger and dug alike, suspicious
of change and youth
and their glib prejudice
against his wealth
and his jowls and his fatigue
regardless of how’d earned them;
mad weary, worried, back to
a wall he’d raised, put his own
back, his own back against
his own wall, mad at all who
he thinks backed him up to it;
mad and worried and wrong,
warty with anger, his hand
on a raised shaky weapon
with only himself
to salute and command
and target and obey.
Dark Matter 