In the photo, maybe seventy years old,
He widely sits, slumped into a parlor chair
Nestled near the corner.
Arm on the rest, he holds his ancient head
And cares not that his wire-rim glasses
Have ever-so-slightly slid.
Beside him stands the radio cabinet
On which sits a rack of phonograph records
And an inconspicuous trophy.
His neck just overflows his buttoned shirt collar.
His tie, thin and tight, matches his lips.
He is listening, looking to the right.
Whether it be the news, filled with desperation
Or the music of that era, spinning, skipping
He has heard it all before.
PHOTO: William “Bea” McClain (1882-1963)