the glass exterior of a passing vehicle.
Concrete slowly rolling by my feet,
observing dreary eyes,
rolling tongues, and passing cheeks.
With every breath, another laugh.
At the crossroads, I saw him.
He trudges through the rain,
black umbrella, in classic attire.
” The road has been long,
and short has been my view on time. ” says the old man.
Dressed in nothing but a thin hoodie,
I asked the man if he would share his umbrella with me.
He allowed, yet under his fathomless eyes I sensed a tingling.
Perhaps sharing such a small umbrella over two men made for
too ridiculous a scene for old man time to bare.
I still see myself at that scene,
asking for cover. And when he leaves,
it’s “Thank you.” I says,
and onward with my path.
Me and my close friends,
we set flowers at the crossroads.
Candles lit with red wax,
hoping old man time would return
to share his umbrella with us once again,
and protect us from the tears that fall,
tieing together both life and death.