A poem by Tony Hoagland, 1953:
Prolonged exposure to death
/ Has made my friend quieter.
/
Now his nose is less like a hatchet
/ And more like a snuffler.
/ Flames don’t erupt from his mouth anymore
/ And life doesn’t crack his thermometer.
/ Instead of overthrowing the government
/ He reads fly-fishing catalogues
/
And takes photographs of water.
/ An aphorist would say
/ The horns of the steer have grown straighter.
/ He has an older heart
that beats younger.
/ His Attila the Hun imitation
/ Is not as good as it used to be.
/ Everything else is better.
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/quiet
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