Kilroy Was Here

He asked himself why he
writes and blogs and copies
his poems from his blog and
saves them in a folder to be
printed sometime later, maybe,
and publishes — one book of
musings, vignettes and poetry
out there and another on the
way. He could say it is be-
cause he loves words and
stringing them together and
that would be true. He could
say he hopes he has something
to say that might be worth
someone else’s time to read,
and that would be true, too,
and it does happen that his
words are read and sometimes
he hears about it and that
fills him with gratitude. He
knows his spoken words are
not so significant as to be
written down by others as in
the case of Jesus or Lao Tzu
or the Buddha or Socrates.
His words might not be as
significant as what he heard
yesterday as he passed by the
community spa. It’s because
he wants to leave something
behind other than fading
memories, like Kilroy etching
on the inside of an outhouse
door somewhere in France dur-
ing WWII.

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