Tank Man
A man
in a white shirt,
tie, black hat,
holding a bag,
alone,
stands in the street,
as the tanks come.
He stands
searching
reaching
looking
for that elusive eagle.
The tanks roll
down the street
like a tidal wave.
He looks over to me,
his eyes big,
pleading
begging
questioning,
Why I do not stand
with him.
He looks back to the
tanks,
as they stop.
I walk away,
head down.
Milam's Musings 
Creative Writing, too?
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I did it in a creative writing class, yes.
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