On the Near Horizon

A bunch of old lizards
Basking in the sun,
Searching for a warm rock
With heads cocked solar,
Covering their balding leathery pates with paper plates
Taking small doses from their brown bottles
And issuing idle threats
Writing checks on long lost accounts.
Regrettable reptiles sitting in the noon day glare
Mad and sometimes angry too, but
No longer able to bring the heat
And while the pilot lights still burns
The fuel runs low
No eight day miracles
Mostly a menorah of memories
And no heavy lifting
No, just worshiping the sun god
As most other deities have been cast out, denounced
Requiring too much cash
And offering not enough carry,
Waiting with a number in their hands
But eyes too blurred with tears
To really read,
Waiting at the back of the line
You’ll find then, just
Sitting in the sun
And cursing the wispy clouds
Forming on the near horizon.