an old man
with eyes
wise
tired
wild
talks to me
he asks
for my name
returning
my smile
a voice
educated
and mild
'what is the name
that comes after?'
i tell him
and he laughs
'i knew your father'
he says
'in the 1970's'
my father
was just a boy
'he was president'
he says
'a good president'
it is not him
but i smile
pretending to understand
the sentences
jumbling
rushing
like a tide
dirt tracking history
on sun faded clothes
worn neatly
he goes
for a moment
comes back
ashamed
'what is your name?'