Saw an old man yesterday,
scraggly and bent he seemed,
holding a cane,
keeping himself up,
wincing with every step,
wrinkles and scars on his face,
the vestiges of youth long gone.
Saw the old man again today,
sitting by the sidewalk café,
holding his cup of coffee to his lips,
hands shaking,
struggling to keep the cup from falling,
and finding his drink,
on his lap.
Saw the old man on my way home,
standing not far from the corner pub,
where the lost try to find themselves,
in their beers and vodkas,
where the troubled man may find his joy,
in the arms of a total stranger.
Never saw the old man again,
probably taken in by his family,
or perhaps, skipped town,
retirement home maybe,
never saw him again,
never saw his bent frame again.
“Copper” came this morning,
asking me questions,
found a dead old man,
in the alley behind the bar,
fetal he was clutching a metal flask,
what a pity he said,
was the town drunk,
pity he said,
wasted his life by dealing with the devil,
living by the bottle, and die like a dog.
“Mirror Image” by Carlos de la Fuente
Published in Philippine Graphic Magazine
Poetry Section, January 29, 2007
