He's seating beneath a big block of stone
On a place where art lays and unfolds
Staring at the passing traffic
Watching at the reality dancing before him
As if he's guarding the ruins
Of the old world crumbling behind
Like the sun slowly fading at the green bay

I can hear him constantly switching
Radio stations on his cheap phone
To pass time, to pass eternity
But never seem to find the song
He's used to dance with in his youth
And now in his twilight amidst
The setting of the great tropical sun
He ruminates on the rising edifices before him

How everything had changed
The thatched roofed houses
Have now become towering cranes
The tall grass have become steel fences
The muddy earth now paved
I can see in the old man's static gaze
That he is wishing and hoping for something
Something he can grasp with
His calloused and wrinkled hands
Something his old frame can lift and hold
Like a moment, or a memory he can be proud of
Until the last of his august days

Yet he found what he's searching for
The last minutes of a ball game
I can hear the ecstatic crowd roaring
As the game dribbles to its end
The buzzer sounds over triumph and defeat
Then the old man closes his phone,
Drinks from his jug, and fixed his things
He looked at me as he stood
Then walks away slowly, losing himself
Beyond a sea of concrete