The Old Man
He stood there
Grey hair dirty, long
Unwanted
His grubby shirt faded
Old
Eyes sad, torn
No one
No home
Dirty bag holds food
Pushed aside
Misplaced
Stared at
Stared from
His frame of
Shocking disclosures
Un-habituated
Sits down
Pauses, pausing
Moving aside
Pulling away
From life
Pulled away from
Us, them
Wrinkled noses
Snickering
Compassion
Compassionless
What happened
What happened to you
In your burrowing world
In your past
Decades
Have passed
Onto your wrinkles
Near death
Your forever lost
And at times
So are we
With our lowered lids.
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2012
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