POETRY

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Things You Learn If You Live Long Enough

for thirty years he never spoke;
just sat on that bench, 
working a toe 
through the hole 
in his boot until,
in a voice 
sandpapered and low, 
he looked up and said:
the road to my future’s
a hell of a lot shorter 
than the one i come up.
all these years, 
i done sat here, 
killin’ my days and
strainin’ my eyes,
trying to read 
the inscrutable face 
of a sleeping god.
and, fool that i am, 
the best i could do 
was smile 
and nod.