he would walk
from his door to the corner
and back
again.
hands behind his back.
quiet.
he'd nod, but
rarely
say a word.
every night after
dinner.
year after year.
we watched him as we
grew
older and he stayed
as he was. old already.
we were kids
on a porch.
and when he passed
away
we talked about him,
and wondered
if our lives would
ever be the same.
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