The Old Timer

He walked up the path with the help of a cane towards me; however I sped off past his gaze with grey hooded eyes; out of his reach for at least another day waiting out time and whistling past the graveyards…

At night when I pause and pillow meets head and the cooler night air embraces the darkness; it is here where pause is given and I meditate not long on the many things out of my control and somehow I manage to sleep…

I am aging now more than I can know and the miles are adding up in ways that somehow show in places I no longer worry about; waiting for that moment when someone someday will say to me, ‘old-timer.’

Dennis Mantin

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