An Old Man

I saw an old man and I wanted to cry.

I see him everywhere, always surprising me.

In the shade, hunched over, under a tree by the courtyard, looking small.

Selling cookies at the Farmer’s Market. Quiet, drawn into himself, no customers.

So I buy in abundance.

Nothing I need with money I don’t have.

I see him everywhere.

His weathered face, mustache hiding his quiet lips.

Never moving, always leaving me wanting to hear more.

And when they do, sometimes I can’t run away fast enough.

Into myself, bracing myself.

Against what I want so badly.