Thoughts Have Hands

Old people sit like everywhere is home, tired of pretense,Settled into clothes worn to comfort 

Enjoying habits practiced past all thinking. 
Anytime breakfast-time places,

Arrange memories on walls for them,

Along with quaint stone fireplaces, mantle clocks,

And the ubiquitous frontier rifle 

Assuring a perfect synchronicity of space and time.
A picture of sentiments serve the marketplace of the mind.

Reveries fixed with coffee, bacon, grits and gravy.
Each customer a connoisseur of the way things were suppose to be,

Nodding appreciation to the lost cornucopia of yesterday, 

Recognizing what they thought they knew so well, truths saluted,

The American way carefully on display,

Drawing the road weary traveler to home away from home. 
Memories baked in a savory mix of old time kitsch, 

Leave them staring fondly through windows of time,

Thirsting for more than water

Praying wilted dreams would flower again.
THH 

August 29, 2015

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