That Old Man...
that old man...
wakes up every morning,
greets death with a scowl.
shuffles barefoot to the bathroom,
pees in defiance of the day.
writes a letter to the President,
or one to the editor.
drinks a pot of black coffee,
puts on his hat and his coat.
tipping his hat to god,
takes his dog for a walk.
speaks little, never asks,
for nothing from no one.
sweeps the floor, washes his dishes,
then sits in his chair.
sometimes eats, often not,
and tries not to remember.
watching the hands on the clock,
and a sparrow out the window.
waits for night to come again,
he waits for the knock!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Added by Poetry Lover
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