A solitary old man...

A solitary old man...
Sitting on a park bench...
I am across from him
on my own bench...

I come out here to watch...
to watch and wonder...
I have never seen him before..

He has tired lookin eyes...
pale grey eyes...
His age is apparent on every crease...
on every spot and stubble on his face...
He seems to have tears in his eyes...
What is your story old man???
what is your story I want to shout...

I merely just look on...
is He waiting for someone???
is He missing someone???
He is just staring at the ground
as if remembering a name...
thinking a thought...
as if he is trying to roll back time...

Where would He go???
what would He do different???
He seems not to notice me...
not to notice anyone around...
the chill in the air bites him a bit...
He adjusts his scarf..
pulls his jacket closer...
rubs his hands together...
tries to bring warmth to his cooling body..

He starts to stand...
with pain he does so...
the years are weighing on him...
arthritis courses through his bones...
as he gets ready to leave...
he stares back at the bench...
as if waiting for a companion to stand..
as if wanting to see someone there...
as if wanting to address someone there...
but only finds empty space...

He looks for only a few seconds...
as He is getting ready to step away...
only one word escapes his lips...
only one name...
it seems to be ripped off his lips...
the name brings a sad joy to his face...
the name is Annabell...

-Marcos Cisneros