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Retired Guy

Bermuda shorts buckled up real tight,
High upon his chest.
Jeter shirt upon his back,
Tucked halfway into his pants.
Yankee cap upon his head.
Good black socks up to his knees,
Clean white sneakers make up the rest.

Gets in his car, goes off to the store.
Can just about see, over the steering wheel.

“Road Hog!” He shouts, too many times to count.
Parks in the closest spot.
Buys his cereal and his juice.
Slowly counts out all his change.
Leaves his cart rolling, in the parking lot.
Hits the next car with his door.
“What did she park so close for?”

Drives back home after swearing a while,
At all the dumb drivers out on the road.
Travels the streets back to his home,
10 miles below the posted speed limit,
Like the law biding citizen he is.
Right blinker’s on, never turned it off.
Turns left into his driveway, going real slow.
Horns blowing constantly
By those “Crazy Tailgaters” on his bumper.
He slams on his brakes in front of the garage,
Nearly hits the door.

He enters the kitchen, with face all aglow.
Puts his packages away.
Biggest thing on his mind right now,
Is taking the garbage out.
Wrestles the cans to the curb,
Lines them up just right.
“Where’s that guy in the truck, that lazy garbage man?
Better not spill it in front of my house,
Or even on my street”
Says the crotchety, crabby old man

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