He wore sadness –
years of it that
had seeped into his
long, drawn face;
tears that had waxed
and molded into a heaviness
that could not be wiped
from his sullen visage.
 
Or perhaps it was
a lifetime of drudgery
that weighed heavy
upon his shoulders,
a back now drooping,
pressed low by the load
he had carried so long;
unable to straighten himself
against the constant onslaught
of wearisome days,
restless nights.
 
Even still it may have
been complacent surrender –
the security of familiar hopelessness,
the bittersweetness of realized defeat;
desiring nothing more but
to reach home
a warm meal
the comfort of bed.
 
Who could tell in that
second or two when
I drove past,
saw him walking in
the late afternoon heat.
Perhaps he was lost
in the thoughts of his wife
and loving children who
would soon welcome
him home at last.
 
Likely I would never
know such things.
 

06/30/2006

Posted on 07/09/2006
Copyright © 2024 David R Spellman