By Wayne Russell
While out on a walk
this morning with my
two dogs in tow, I could
have sworn that I saw the
resurrected Theodore Roosevelt.
The red tinged hair, the bulky
manly stature, the bushy mustache
even the glasses were there.
to the Roosevelt clone and received
nothing in retort but a snort; he didn’t
even look my way.
The man who bore such a striking
resemblance to our very late twenty-sixth
president of these here United States
appeared to still be leading the charge
into the wilds of the world.
Fist furiously pumping, legs in stiff gallop,
sweat oozing from furrowed brow, and
then he dissipated like a ghost, back into
the history books, long forgotten by those
in the here and now frontier.