elephant memory

the old man on the bench was the sexiest old man in the world.  observable still, the clear traces of his hard chiseled-like brawn.  i told him so and he laughed.  must have had heard it many times before.  in spite of tropical heat, where we were was cool, and eternally springing, and green.  and this, i also told him so.  he agreed and we both got into talking.  about the weather.  hinterland farmer, the sexiest old man in the world, and the writer.   i told him:  i was up in the boondocks some days ago.  you still pan gold here?  yes.  and so, more talking.  this time, about his cows.  and the multipurpose Co-op.  and their fresh milk deal.  of course.  we both knew this: us both trying to skirt away.  if possible.  such a beautiful breezy May.

i took out no pen, no paper, no recorder.  and asked him instead about the dust road beside the cliff, from where we just passed.  how long has it been there?

oh a long time, he said.  that's where the wartime soldiers took my wife to be never seen again.