The snow falls like crumpled pieces of off white construction paper
On a frigid landscape of charcoal concrete and yellow dashes
At the bus stop bench sits a gray haired man
In a tan, burly coat smoking a cigarette with a withered hand
It has seen the passage of time
Held doors open for lovers, family and friends
Worked heat tunnel machines in factories that ship out products
That consumers buy but never wonder who packaged them
Black over-sized, cargo slacks with a few small rips
Are neatly tucked into grey steel toe boots
Planted beneath him
When he stands they give way to creases at the base of the shoe
He sighs thinking of the bills that have gone unpaid
Decades earlier he was paid more for the toil and grind
Reminding him of the youth and the job security
That this modern century left behind
But everyday he gets up for work to provide
In his steel toe boots
Love always, Esha ❤
300triedbywater.com 