what they used to be

things aren't what
they used
to be the old man
says
from the stoop
a bagged bottle
of wine
between his thin
legs.
he stamps his brown
shoes at a line
of ants
going by.
things are different
now, he says.
lighting a cigarette
watching a girl
walk by across
the street.
sure, he says.
the girls are still
pretty and men still
need to work
but it ain't like
it used to be.
it's hard to
explain he says.
but you have trust
me when i say,
that things are
what they used
to be. i was young
once too, he says.
you'll see, you'll
see.