The Nap

The Nap by Odin Roark Through a smudged barroom window A child stares in at the old man In his darkened corner spot He sits on a rickety chair Head bent downward Bleary eyes fixed on a weathered tabletop His finger idly caressing a carved heart Once etched with proclaimed love Now void of excitement Like the empty bar Pondering fate Soured with age Years of youth Never fulfilled Haunts his every moment left Why? The child tilts her head Matching the slumped old man She too wonders Why? She can't see The buried liar in him The one called Discretion The one who betrayed his trust The voice so persuasive Tomorrow will do You've plenty of time Your whole life's ahead of you Arthritic fingers rise to his cheek Sunken wrinkles like crevasses he once scaled Now but remind him How cold life can be The little girl palms her sweater Making clearer the window She taps small fingers his way Ancient eyes rise from tabled history She smiles He nods A moment's joy Stymies his reverie His crooked fingers Touch his lips Remembering kisses Never thrown Till now Thoughts and memories Render him dizzy He rests his head on the table Time for his nap In the once noisy bar Of his youth