Poetry: Older Man

“He told me of his dismal life so far…”

I met an older man the other day,
he had wrinkles on his face
he smelled of lousy booze and stale smoke,
his hair was crazy, empty in the middle,
with bushy clouds stuck to the sides.

He didn’t speak directly to me,
but I knew his speech was addressed to me;
he told me of his dismal life so far
the way it treated him, how he almost gave up.

He told me a lot about evil in the people,
oh, I agreed with him on people and
disagreed with his music choice at times
but he had his own ideas, I conceded fleetly.

I listened and listened,
devouring each sentence, word
as he cracked another beer open,
with a shiny beer cap falling,
smacking on the ground.

Then he showed me his words,
so strangely put on paper
but as I read, I realized the genius
who was hidden from me all this time.

Everyone I read before this meeting,
was placed quickly on the bottom shelf,
to collect the dust for now,
as I explore and plunge inside his alcoholic words;
full of pain but so much truth.

Poetry by Vladimir Fischer