“What’s in his head?”
I wondered, as I stared at him.
“What’s on his head?”
I wondered as I stared at it from my seat,
realizing he had partial alopecia.
That one round, smooth, oily, bald spot
Drowning in his clothes with a color as brown as dust
I could not tell if they were dirty or just brown
His shoes had seen better days
I observed his facial expression
Seemed to me like he was in a dilemma
as he paced in no certain manner
Sane or insane,
I could not tell…
…till he spoke!
His voice so fruity
His accent so creamy, I could taste it
He was courteous and full of wisdom
An erudite too, I assumed,
as I finally sighted his bag, books, papers and files
arranged neatly on a bench.
He sipped tea at intervals from a transparent plastic bowl
The same type my grandfather liked to use
He wrote, what?
Probably his will or a letter to his unborn great granddaughter.
He seemed to know it was his last days
He was probably having memories while I watched him.
He looked up and slowly smiled at me
Like I was a part of his past
Perhaps I reminded him of his first love…