He is the last great sentinel of our time, this seventy-year-old man with the wart on his nose, lungs probably wrought with black cancer from half a century of three packs a day. The kids still smile up at him, these children of the children whose lives he saved so many semesters ago, lives that create other lives, that fill schools and occasionally stain streets. He is a hero with a most unheroic appearance; all stooped over, joints aching through winter, false teeth chattering in his heroic head, but the kids still smile up at him and that is reward enough. He is old but these mornings make him young. He will die in bed, maybe in a hospital, maybe at home, but his life will actually end right here, on this street, this rain-soaked corner. The grey-haired knight turns his head up to the drizzle and closes his eyes, surrounding himself with his kingdom of laughter and lunch boxes.
Reason for writing:
My inspiration for this poem was the fact that so many people worship professional athletes, actors and other celebrities as heroes simply for the reason that they get so much exposure. People need to remember that there are heroes all around us, such as teachers, policemen, firemen, and yes, crossing guards. These kind people are out there every day protecting our children, our most precious commodity. What in the world could be more heroic than that?
Birth sign: Aries
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