when I was okay.” A cool cat with Sinatra-
blue eyes at the back of the bus, he rides
with a grin each bump feet steady then slides
onto the street’s sunny side with laughter.

“There was a time…” Sixty years on, he holds
strangers’ hands, is lifted with walker and glasses
to the nearest seat. A student passenger passes.
Our future stares at Beware of the Step; he scolds

his own folded posture, rasps like an arthritic cat
from beneath his golfer’s cap, “Thank you, Sir.
There was...” His seat vibrates as houses blur
into the brown of his faded suit, his feet flat

as his muscles relax. The man recalls his prime
as the next stop nears. “There was a time....

View this poem on The Disappearing »