the short list

you hold
the door for
the limping
bent over man.
he says thank
you, as you
let him in
with his cart
and bag, his
hat securely
on his head.
his hair
as white as
snow. his eyes
twinkling
blue like old
stars with
life still in
them. you watch
him as he
pulls out his
list. shorter
today, perhaps,
than yesterday.