There is a man with a crooked smile. Maybe you’ve heard of him, he’s been around for a while.
His crude cane ticks a slow constant beat as he shuffles along my dimly lit street.
None speak as he crosses their path, none but I will temp his chilling wrath.
I smile, wave and say “Good Evening!” in only the strictly cheeriest of greeting.
A solemn nod is all he can do, I never get a “Hello!” or “Good evening to you too!”
I watch from my stoop grinning as he travels past to carry out nature’s bidding.
I have not yet seen his return, safely snoring in my bed, it’s not my concern.
It goes like this for years and years, a greeting, a nod, a release of my fears.
Until the morning there is a rapping on my door, a sweet child only three, stands looking forlorn.
I say “Hello” and he replies, “Hi. How do you do? I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”
Just as I ask the reason for his call, he touches my hand and I begin to fall.
From the floor, heart beating it’s last, I see his crooked grin “You!” I say with my final gasp.
Collecting and aging with every few, he releases the souls where the day begins anew…
Picture credit goes to flickriver.com/Old man with a cane