dear old man.

"I'm playing Santa
at a party tomorrow,"
he told me in his
low, often trembling voice.

"That's nice of you,"
I replied,
while cleaning off the
dirty table
where he had
decided to sit
after all.

"Yes, it is,"
he said without
looking at me.
"It's nice to feel wanted,
isn't it?"

I almost dropped
the plate that I
had taken off of his table
as I look at him
in surprise.

It was eerie how
easily that one
sentence
had struck such
a sensitive cord
within me.

Completely oblivious
to how much his
words had
affected me,
he said,
"Could I
have some pancakes?"





[This was inspired by a regular at my work. He's the sweetest old man that you'll ever meet and he comes in every Sunday. I have never learned his name, but I call him Smiley and he calls me Shy.]