D. Avraham ~ Musings

The old man

In the dark grey coat

Looked at

The overcast sky

Heaved a sigh

And rocked back

On the faded green

Park bench

To provide

Momentum

For the climb

To his feet

.

He sighed

It wasn’t a sigh of grief

Or of pain.

Not of satisfaction

Or contentment

But of
Contemplation

And preparation

.

The old man

In the dark grey coat

Planted his

Crooked feet

Heaved a sigh

And rocked forward

On the faded green

Park bench

And stood

Slowly

Not quite erect

Not quite bent.

.

He sighed

It wasn’t a sigh of bitterness

Or of fatigue

Not of weariness

Or hopelessness

But of reminiscence

And remembrance

.

The old man in the grey coat

Straightened his

Sagging shoulders

Heaved a sigh

And turned towards

The faded brown

Path

That led towards

A place that

Was once called

Home

And sighed.

“Does she work?”

Asked

The pretty teller

As she

Offered

A packaged smile

That

Came with all the

Forms

And Files

She slid

Across

The counter.

.

“Does she work?”

He thought

Of

Dishes piled

High

And the line

Of clothes

Never ending

And the way

She always

Spoke a little

Too loudly

Even when

There wasn’t

The reverberating

Din

Of children in

The background.

.

“Does she work?”

She asked

Standing in

The sterile room

With florescent glare

Her temperature controlled

Along with the air

By the hushed

Tones of

Muzak

Caressing

Her ear.

.

“Does she work?”

The question stuck

Like mud

On the freshly painted

Walls of the foyer

That she scrubbed

Clean

Only to

Find

An artist’s rendition

Of the Metro

In greens and reds

And so much

Blue

Swept under

The carpet.

.

“Does she work?”

She asked.

.

“No,” he answered

And, knew

It was a lie.