Old man on the park bench
Smiling;
Quietly, by himself.
Fedora on his head,
Pulled low,
Oh was he in style,
In 1942.

He watches the children play,
All day,
As long as the weather
Holds.
And it reminds him
Of other days,
All of the memories good,
A long, long time ago.

Rogues on skateboards
Make a pass,
Jeering at the gentle old man.
They circle like wolves,
Examining their prey,
And search the perimeter,
For police, or others like them.

“Hey, old man,”
Yells one,
”Why don’t you just go home?”
”Don’t you know that it’s dangerous,
For you to be out here,
All alone?”

He gets up from the lonely park bench,
And he searches vainly for some help.
Nobody seems to want to rescue him,
And he was far too frail to yell.
One juvenile spits in his face,
As he rolls quickly passed,
”You had better get yourself home, old man,
Before we kick your ass.”

And then his heart starts to racing;
This won’t be the usual deal,
These kids were out to hurt him,
And unfortunately,
They were far too real.

One of them smacks him,
With a Louisville Slugger
From home.
”Hey, old man,
I told you,
You shouldn’t be out here all alone."

He staggers down the street,
And wonders whatever changed,
In his own younger days,
He never hurt anyone,
And he never made anybody afraid.

And so now he knows the truth,
That there is little hope.
If you can’t respect your elders,
Then your society has no morality,
Certainly, no morality of note.

Soon the boarders grow bored,
As he slips quietly away,
His heart slows down to nothing,
He’s safe again,
If only for today.