I hear and see
soles grind
small pebbles
into night nigh
obscured flagstones,
something young,
a passerby,
says

                 “What are you doing? Old man"

Stepping from the
well-worn stone
to spongy dirt
moist leaves, a
fleeting cricket
drawing closer now-
short hair
mid twenties
maybe a man, fine features
He asks
                 "What are you senile? What day is it?”

With a spark he laughs after uttering the word
"day",
I dislike Him for it

                 "Well, Tuesday I do believe."

Or did I just think that, either way,
                                     He doesn't listen

                 "Do you need help? Old man"

And moves closer still
now only six feet
a clearing of leaves overshadowed
by the realization,
of soft swells,
of
sweet
perfume
Compassion steals across Her face
She asks loud
"How long have you been in this park?"

And I look down at my
***** dress shoes,
filthy slacks, my
muddy hands
I look out of place
But now there is a
hole
A
pit
A
Crevasse
I notice a faint droning in my ear
It iterates me, She senses a
stain in me
A
growing
blight
I don't seem very old anymore
No, not to Her
And
I get close
r
Far off I hear the sound of taxis and
a siren
And oh lady of the night
She sings to me
Tonight She sings
Only to
me

Then there is
only
placid
silence

Now, lost in
disjointed contemplation
Spotless slippers
Gray pajama bottoms, a
glass of milk
I hear
Something
Maybe a termite
eating
No,
A ******* bumble bee must have flown in
That is it
I know it
That is making this,
awful
droning
sound