The spectator
He’s seen all the hopefuls reach for the sky
walks down aisles and anniversaries, how they pass by, as he fills every crowd with a presence so empty, minces his words and questions each syllable.
He’ll attempt a joke like his life’s on the line
(he gets it wrong, most every time)
The air is so thick, unmoved by the silence that falls when speaks, like he’s crafting a science but with everything that he’s seen, and every person he’s been, how has he not perfected the act?
That mask never sticks, it slips and they see it, and that’s when they start to step back. A life on the sidelines, that’s the life that he owns. A life not so giving, a life of stunted growth. He’s tried to escape it, more than once or twice, but he ends up just watching the world pass by.
As the children grow up and leave birthright towns, or when teenage lovers adorn wedding gowns, his place will not change- to all that is clear. He’s a seat filler through time for all the years that he’s here.
A spectator does not take centre stage.
A spectator, he’ll be, in every age.
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