A Visit Home

by Douglas Polk

old men,
gray specters of the men I knew,
the one with the oxygen,
gave me my first dip of tobacco,
the old man with the cane,
scared the hell out of me,
the night I brought his daughter home with sunrise,
memories flood the brain,
the smiles and sneers all the same,
only not nearly as frightening,
when a bunch of old men,
worn and gray.