"The old man"

by Lianne Olive Hennig

An old man shopped in the supermarket
Where I work hard all day.
He used to come and talk to me
Before he went away.

He used to hobble down the aisle
And catch me on the lurk,
And chat with me about his life
And ask about my work.

I loved to see his friendly face,
His open wrinkled smile.
I liked to have him come and chat
To pass away the while.

I liked to see his balding head
With its few hairs all turned grey,
But now no more will he appear – 
For that was yesterday.

The last day that he came to me
He spoke about his wife –
His face grew ashen with his fear,
His sorrow, stress, and strife.

He’d grown ‘too old’ for her, she’d said,
And he knew something was wrong
For she muddled things up inside her head
And thought herself still young.

Sometimes she didn’t know his face!
Sometimes she started to pray.
She acted silly for no reason at all
And, finally, went away.

He didn’t know where she had gone,
She disappeared without a trace.
He’d even searched her childhood home...
His grief showed in his face.

The last day that he came to me,
He spoke about his wife.
His eyes were sad and strangely glazed.
That day, he took his life.