This time by James. My words are: Silver, Bonanza, Wall, Capture, Illusion, and Ticklish

History is ticklish.
You simply need
to poke and prod it
a little to make
it writhe and squirm,
twist and contort,
showing anogther
side of itself.

No one suspects
the severe face
trapped in silver halide
on grandma's wall
to be the same face that grinned
with childish glee
as Bonanza's own Lorne Greene
battled evil rovots. That same mouth
spoke of time-travelling call boxes 
and sword-fights in space while those
eyes sparked with wonder.

In a momentary lapse,
a flash of light capures
the illusion which, for generations
will be handed down as
reality.

I was nominated for my own challenge! 

A little while ago, my friend Dave nominated me for the Word Bucket Challenge. My words were: Vacillate, Thousand, Broken, Wall, Ingredient, and Silver

He stood, leaning against
the wall, beer and pretzels
and all as I got back and it's all,
"did you get it?" and "Great man,
how much?"
It wasn't much.

Between 80oz of malt 
liquor, two bags of sourdough,
gas station cigars and rolling paper,
we were half out of coin
and missing an vital ingredient for
a night of hedonism.

We strolled down by the docks-
the loading docks- all mysterious and out for
trouble, orjust a quiet place, vacillating
between standing menacingly on tired feet
and sitting, un-menacingly on cooling concrete
among a thousand fragments of broken glass.

He struggled to roll it, the sticky night air
forcing sweat to rain from his face, nearly breaking
concentration. He rolled it like a freshman, unsure
but determined, lit up, and took one long drag.
He held it. I chewed, pretzel masking the horrid
taste of the now warming 40.

He was all choking and writhing, 
doubled-over in suprirse. "Man,"
he managed, thumping chest. "Those 
lying assholes." He expected a high,
not a burning lung. "Said I should try
oregano!"

I handed him a cigar, lit my own
tossing the bottle and silver wrapper
to the dumpster, and said, "Come on." He stood, recovering,