A Poem by Sy Roth

John and Thomas

They spar
Sparing little of themselves
lightning rods ensnared
in the snap-crackly air.

Their thoughts bitter
dressed in blue velvet,
gold buckles
he in homespun cloth
draped in insouciant words
couched in aphorisms.

They beat each other with their silences
ancient heroes
ancient warriors,
drooling octogenarians
stiffly jousting with their words,
combating their own fearsome angles
devil's grappling,
locked in the battle of last moments
lost moments bent in the clutches of the living
an indolent history.

Brisk breaths breathed last
in lusty lungs-full.
One withheld
one bold
both wrapped in sweeping gestures of similitude.