There but, for the grace of God, go I…..
That wizened one on corner bench
Balding with a wrinkled eye,
Challenged by his verbal clench.

He holds forth with a knowing tongue,
In cadence, difficult for me,
Phrases from a wheezing lung
In yesterday’s lost repartee.

Pedantic, in occasional  way,
Quite racist in the words that flow,
Combative to retorts, I say….
Breed angrily, response….. I know.

Wishing to avoid offense,
Impatient, in my need to go,
I interrupt, to make amends
And flee with fleeting smile to show.

Thus the way of late, it seems,
Curtailed in his ancient eye,
Impatience with the aged dreams,
Communication cauterized.

Hurt,  I see the face withdraw
Bite the sentence from the tongue,
Quiet….but  the look implores
Condescension has begun.

Agh, these days go thinly by
The telephone now rarely rings,
Words are short twixt he and I
A hollowness this silence brings.

M
11th December 2022
Foxglove@Taranaki,NZ