Old Men

Old men.

Natures cantankerous,

curmudgeonly old grumps.

Good for nothing,

drained of life,

past their prime,

near their end

...sort of old men.

Benches are where these old men can be found.

Benches in our high streets,

benches at bus stops,

benches in parks and on seafronts,

old men sat on benches.

Swaddled in large over-coats,

polished shoes,

a cap and a scarf

...or worn out 'trackies' 

a sweatshirt and a faded denim jacket,

(memories of their youth),

a 'fag' on the go,

seemingly stuck to their bottom lip

...sort of old men.

Sat behind blank stares,

their 'get-up-and-go' had just 'got-up-and-gone'

confused by the life they find themselves in,

looking for all the world like it just ran past them,

wondering what the hell happened,

wondering where the hell it all went,

talking to no-one,

talking to anyone,

anyone who'd listen

sort of old men.

Sitting to rest and think,

sitting to remember,

or to forget.

Looking at the world around them, 

trying to connect with it,

trying to feel involved in it

wanting to feel apart of it,

...but not really getting it,

Sort of old men.