Old man looked down and tried to see his shoes.
Tried to remember how the bottom of his feet looked;
Whether today was today or if he had spent it yesterday.
Old man shuffled down the walk
He heard birds, felt weather
Tasted food that didn’t taste like much.
Old man had his rituals, though,
Like picking up the morning paper.
So he groaned and bent down and gathered it in.
Not that it mattered.
Death had become the only news.
People died he knew and didn’t know
And cared nothing about anyway.
Young man had cared.
His causes, passions, anger had warmed his life.
He had little concern for goodness in himself.
But sure as hell expected it in others.
He had raced with other men
And beath them.
He knew how to kiss girls
Till they panted and squeezed their thighs.
Old man thought about that and hummed
A tune from way back
From a time when his shoes were new.
Now old man had caught his fish,
Enjoined in the world
Passed his seed and built his temples
They were fallen now
But he counted them as his pride.
And his shoes were worn clean through.
Old man sat still and hummed some more.
He didn’t remember what paths he had taken
Or where they had led,
Except he knew they would
End quietly and in peace.
All the footprints he had left behind,
He knew someday soon
Would no longer be there.