Pete

There he lies

Taking a nap

Or

There he sits

As we surround to listen

He sits there

In worker’s blue

Natural short hair

Somber with a sometime smile

Barrel chested

Thick armed

He is a slave

Warrior

Worker

Boxer

Speaking in tissued tones

I

Am older than a

Thousand years

Was I was Adam

Sitting alone on the Mount Moses

I threw down stone

In anger thinking

Who

Knew me

No one knew

And I accepted

Through ages of women

One hundred

Years ago I was found

In exile I married

An Indian woman

Man they called me

And here I sit

In worker’s blue

Silence

And Harold runs by

Crying

What are

Get those goddamn animals

Out of my barn

Why

They have no call

To be smoking

And calling me names

Because the sun is rolling nevertheless

Undoubtedly I can’t do that just

Because I never call them names

Because they think I do

Pete smiles

Felling finer than

Frog’s hair

I know thinking

The end

Is coming

My death is coming

At the crossroads

We will meet

Having suffered

Through this zoo enough

You will beg me

He sits there

Staring at the sunshine

Through barred windows

As crazy people dance

About him