notice more and more
the shuffle
of the grey,
the slow plodding
to somewhere,
a cart
in front of them,
perhaps.
a few things from
the store.
there's a weariness
in their faces.
their eyes
don't look up anymore.
is that you
in a few years?
or just
the gnawing of age,
some
ancient fear
that you may go
through that door.
No comments:
Post a Comment