Old Ben
I’m sure I’ll always remember the madman standing on the corner. He stood there in the heat and in the cold, but never in the rain. He wore his army issue jacket. He told me and my friend his name was Ben. His hair was prematurely white and his beard prickly. His stubble bothered me, yet I didn’t know why. He said things I couldn’t understand. His eyes were black because he’d been visited by death. In his own way he warned us boys about the horror of war. But we were too young and more afraid of him.
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