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Thoughts on an Old Man at Work

Late one evening, I sat in my car - outside a fast food joint.
Outside, there was a silver-haired old man in a white button-down shirt and a black apron washing windows - and I couldn't help but stare.
What was an old man like him doing washing windows at a crumby fast food joint?
The man looked to be in his sixties, but his hard hands and wrinkled grimace added ten years. My guess was he wasn't there for a sense of purpose.

My mind began to wonder

Had the old man fallen upon hard times? Was he struggling to make ends meet?
Was the harsh look smeared across his face his way of letting me know that he'd rather be sitting in his backyard sipping whisky and smoking a cigar?
Horrible visions of shattered dreams come to mind.
For a moment I slip into his apron.
My back hurts from being hunched over all day - and my hands are sore from gripping the wiper.

A good life can only get so bad

Where do I go from here?
I snap out of my daze when my brother opens the car door.
I get to drive home and away from this place - and if I wanted too, I'd never have to come back
But the old man couldn't be so lucky

Youth is the single most unappreciated gift

poem by C.S. Smith
Added by Poetry Lover
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