An Old Man on a Park Bench
"Come 'ere, young lady.
I got a story I wanna tell you."
He looked about 80 or so, but he could have been much older.
He was sitting there on that old park bench, rusted, ancient -
throwing stale cubes of Wonder bread
to the duck, geese, and crows that hovered around him.
A sad picture, to be perfectly honest.
In my head, I almost pictured it in black and white.
A weeping willow sharing his sorrow behind him,
being pulled down by the weight of the world.
He told me, after coughing up a bit of lung,
"I met Mable 62 years ago. I musta been 'round your age.
Lemme tell you. That woman," he paused, this time with a look of longing.
"was the most beautiful woman in the 'tire world.
An', my dear, age just made the heart grow fonder."
He set the half empty bag of bread down, and turned to me.
"The day I saw my bride come down that aisle,
is still fresh in my mind." He closed his eyes. "That white dress, golden hair.
Mm, I do believe I was the luckiest lad of em all."
At that point, I figured he was some delusional old man
who some how escaped the local old person house just down the road.
So I listened to what else he had to say.
"She put up with me, and she put up with me, that saint.
I'd make a fool outta myself time again and somehow,
she loved me yet." The old man began to shake.
"Sir," I finally spoke, "would you like me to get someone for you?"
He said, with tears in his eyes, "could you get God, for me, dear?
I want to go home... I want to see my Mable."
I got a story I wanna tell you."
He looked about 80 or so, but he could have been much older.
He was sitting there on that old park bench, rusted, ancient -
throwing stale cubes of Wonder bread
to the duck, geese, and crows that hovered around him.
A sad picture, to be perfectly honest.
In my head, I almost pictured it in black and white.
A weeping willow sharing his sorrow behind him,
being pulled down by the weight of the world.
He told me, after coughing up a bit of lung,
"I met Mable 62 years ago. I musta been 'round your age.
Lemme tell you. That woman," he paused, this time with a look of longing.
"was the most beautiful woman in the 'tire world.
An', my dear, age just made the heart grow fonder."
He set the half empty bag of bread down, and turned to me.
"The day I saw my bride come down that aisle,
is still fresh in my mind." He closed his eyes. "That white dress, golden hair.
Mm, I do believe I was the luckiest lad of em all."
At that point, I figured he was some delusional old man
who some how escaped the local old person house just down the road.
So I listened to what else he had to say.
"She put up with me, and she put up with me, that saint.
I'd make a fool outta myself time again and somehow,
she loved me yet." The old man began to shake.
"Sir," I finally spoke, "would you like me to get someone for you?"
He said, with tears in his eyes, "could you get God, for me, dear?
I want to go home... I want to see my Mable."