Columnist, communist, capitalist con
standing without his pants on.
A greek, a geek, a one cheek sneak
stepping strong but a little weak.
An image, an homage, a page of the age
a change of wind upon his stage.
All heady, not ready, to redly drape
a flag of a hero like a cape.
No scars, no mars, no bruises of battle
no callouses, nor replicas or sores of a saddle.
Drop the pole, the role and see what you’re made of
all bare and barely a man when you step up.
Walter Parada photogragh for One Shoot Sunday poetry challange.
Gerald the Writer 
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