The Dragon

Didn’t we wear our Blues
Like kings?
All dazzle and polish.

We were as flint
Uncompromising
Our eyes lanterns
Boots singing on pavement
Like jack hammers
In concert.

I’ve put away
Every remembrance
The chevrons and brass
Every device
I once so proudly wore.

There are fewer of us
Our ranks thinning
Like our hair.

I’ve grown my beard
Let my hair creep past my shoulders
That once wore sparkling pride.

I still believe.
But the man I was
Sleeps in a drawer
Beneath my socks.

To open it
Would be to loose
The Dragon.

And I am just too weary to ride.