Apathy
  by T. D. Helfrick

His gnarled, arthritic hands
And the fixed gaze upon his face
Revealed his sadness, as he recalled
Remnants of his tattered past.

Memories of his mother were before him
As she sat in her rocker, crocheting
He blotted his teary eyes clumsily
Handkerchief in hand, as he relived those times.

The naked truth of his wandering days
And the accessories of their detail
Were with him, even more now that he had aged.

The simple years of acorns and slingshots
He had left behind, with his awkwardness...

(c) T. D. Helfrick