one day i will be old.

i will have skin that wrinkles like cloth and there will be long lonely strands of hair poking through the folds on my chin.

teenagers will be painfully polite to me and sometimes they will jump up and give me their warmed seats. sometimes they will be abnormally cheerful and loudly bright, but most often they will be exactingly silent in my presence. and their eyes will watch the houses and trees roll by through the plastic window behind me and they will study the checks on their shoes, but they will not meet my squinted gaze and they will not see the smile that struggles to surface on my slack mouth.

one day i will see God’s hand write my story out in the sky. i will see my death
spelled out for me, the sunset will be yet another sunset and i will see the geese fly south and i won’t say goodbye. not to home, not to me, not to God.

i will see the clouds with my bedraggled hair in my eyes and they will be wispy like my memories.

one day.

today you looked up as i ran past.