His Past and Tense Future –

With no girthing underwear, clean, urine drops from his sheath’s end while he mixes-up powdered mashed potato, then, slams down cutlery onto a third-hand table – His, a skip’s, after Dementia’s.
The chicken is cold, the gravy piping brown and thick for that, the high green cabbage and the processed sugar sweet tasting carrots.
A week forward, and moving out of there, off to live in his levelness, a station base-camp of old Jeep mud tyre tracked safe-havens, then, State Trooper put-down and move-on for that converted to the cause of a Fifty-something ‘Freeman’ of Common Law and Magna Carta.
It’s all pawns takes rook, bishop takes the pawn and knight takes bishop, and so on, with him, and his thick leather black bi-fold wallet gives intermittent agape for a flash of the two rag photos that barely reflect on his bespoke Formica round table.
New Yankees Baseball cap and the whitening skin from lengthy and longing days, with smiling level welded teeth biting at our cracked Heaven.

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