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 <3