No One Looks at Old Men by Vern Fein
I sit in my coffee shop, day after day, moving the spoon to catch the white streak the overhead light swirls in my cup. Sit and watch no one's watching.
Maybe I could change that? Light up the gray faces on the counter stools.
Next Monday I will wear shoes that don't match, maybe a tennie and a boot. Tuesday, a pink polka dot tie, with my Purple Heart pinned on, outside my coat. A large, orange comb in my left over hair, Wednesday.
Thursday, the rainbow bandanna my only daughter gifted me long ago. On the first day of the weekend, my teeth in a glass on the table. But that would not be nice to the young waitress who wears the watermelon uniform. She doesn't look at me when she always smiles, but she is very careful with my cup, filling even when it is almost full.
Then, Saturday, my old, rusted service revolver. Just set it in on the table in full view. Would the cook notice as he does when I sit too long?
I don't come here on Sundays because it's closed.
About to be an octogenarian, Vern Fein started writing poetry a few years after he retired at seventy and has published over one hundred fifty poems on over seventy sites, a few being: *82 Review, Bindweed Magazine, Gyroscope Review, Courtship of Winds, Young Raven's Review, Nine Muses, Monterey Poetry Review, and Corvus Review. Twitter: @poetplain