Old Guy
I see him everywhere.
This old man, dressed like an old man,
always in need of a shave, his gray hair,
askew, sometimes under a ratty cap.
I see him everywhere:
sometimes walking along the tracks,
sometimes in the park or in the mall,
sometimes on a street I've never been on before,
and always, always talking to himself.
I wonder what that's about?
Maybe he's bitching about something.
Maybe he's remembering how his life sucked,
how the marriage went wrong,
where his kids are now. Or maybe not.
Maybe he never got married and never
had kids. Who knows? But that's just it.
I want to know.
But why do I want to know?
It's not because he looks interesting,
he looks a bit goofy actually. He's not
grandfatherly appearing, and judging
from his clothes, he probably smells.
Perhaps, because I see him everywhere,
I have started to dream about him,
and just this morning I saw him looking
at me in the bathroom mirror.

J. D. Heskin

If you have any comments on this poem,  J. D. Heskin  would be pleased to hear from you.