Old Man Young

his shirt is black and shiny,
like his skin

he is looking out over the bridge
and the sun is beating down
he is watching the birds
soaring and weaving

"Once," he thought, "a long time ago, I had youth."
but his youth has gone
the lines on his face are like the rings
in a tree

"Who took my body, and left me this dried husk?"

the cars are flying past him
and he is the lamp post on the street
except to a girl,
who sees him with her dark eyes
and writes him down

her imagination remembers him as he was,
so many years ago