I.
His wrinkles representing his years.
Spending the day perched on a park bench.
Surrounded by buildings with infinite floors.
His captain hat relaxed on what is left of his shaggy gray hairs.
Same routine for the past 64 years

‍He watches‍ people pass with promptitude,
putting his own twists on the untold stories.

The young man with his little treasure on his shoulders
walking home from the first day of kindergarten
mentally preparing himself for the first boyfriend

A woman hustling in a pencil skirt and sketchers,
her briefcase holding her future,
her hair looking dangerous to brush,
her body is rushing to work but
her mind is rushing to a safe heaven

He sits submissively taking in the exceptional day.
His raggy old polo unbuttoned just enough to see his curly white hairs,
khaki's and shoes trodden with years,
he doesn’t look sloppy just somewhat outdated

II.
In no rush he hobbles with his cane,
waiting for the bus that stops at every lane.

Just like last Saturday he drops in a quarter
and takes the window seat.

Slowly and surely the stop and go ride becomes shorter,
looking out the dirty window at every street.

‍Missing the Saturdays he didn't ride alone,
wishing someone would take the leap to
get off their phone
and take a seat.‍

At the 6th stop every Saturday
he uses the seat in front of him,
lifts himself up and walks off,
flashing an innocent smile to the people he passes
who are all too busy with their smart devices

III.
The ugly red door greets him outside.
Inside he stops at the mirror to evaluate himself,
taking his captain hat off and placing it on top of the coat tree,
the same place it has sat for the past 64 years.

Missing the smell of a home cooked meal,
he reaches in his fridge to grab a frozen pre-made dinner,
forlornly tossing it in the microwave.

As he waits for the food to be done,
he peaks in the other room
at the two worn matching recliners.

Thanking the microwave as if it was his wife,
watching the late night shows in his recliner,
only dying for some conversation,
only dying for his wife's voice,
finishing his night off in his favorite chair.
His wrinkles representing his years