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The Old Man

An aged man came into the bar from out of the cold,
he was wearing a monk’s habit as in the days of old.
‘Like death warmed up’ my mother used to say,
as he sat by the open fire on this winters day.

He never spoke, ordered a drink, or even showed his face,
he hardly moved at all and everyone gave him space.
The barman said, “You can’t sit there without buying a drink, ”
a stare of stone was the response, “okay, I’ll give you time to think.”

The place went deathly quiet as whispers could only be heard,
“Where did this monk person come from, doesn’t he look absurd? ”
The whispering stopped as the man turned and looked directly at me,
he pointed with his long skeletal finger and croaked, “You will be he.”

I gulped, and nervously asked, “What are you talking about? ”
“You’ll be leaving here with me, so let’s make our way out.”
“I’m not going anywhere, ” I said, “until I’ve finished my beer.”
“That’s fine by me, ” he said, “I’ll be waiting here.”

To humour the old man I asked where he thought we were going.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, and by the way I’ll be doing the rowing? ”
“I’m sorry old man I’m not going anywhere, it’s much too cold outside.”
“You haven’t got it yet have you; we’re taking your last boat-ride? ”

“There are no boat-rides until spring the river’s been frozen for a week, ”
said the barman with a grin on his face that went from cheek to cheek.
“It’s not a literal boat-ride you fool it’s a journey everyone must take
and my job is to escort the travellers across the lake.”

“What is this old man on about, there are no lake’s around here,
come on everybody sup up, it’s time for another beer.”
“You are getting on my nerves barman give your mouth a rest,
or I’ll take someone with a mouth the size of his chest.”

The barman looked quite unsettled and threatened to throw him out
unless he ordered a drink, but he refused and called him a lout.
“That’s it, ” the barman said, “I’ve heard enough let’s have you outside.”
“That’s good enough for me, ” said the old man, “you’ll be taking the ride.”

At that precise moment the barman collapsed clutching his heart,
an ambulance was called and within minutes they had made a start.
The paramedics tried in vain to revive him: alas they could do no more,
but see the barman’s spirit and the old man walk through the door.

poem by Orlando Belo
Added by Poetry Lover
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