Old Guy

[Wes Corona]

I met an old guy,
Who cared not a hoot.
If someone stopped by,
He’d give them the boot.

He’d curse and he’d holler.
He’d shake his fist,
He’d yank their collar.
And twist their wrist.

A mean old man,
When we first met,
Until our first,
Tete-a-tete.

He talked and talked,
As I did listen,
I’m sure he noticed,
How my eyes did glisten.

He told me his sorrow,
His tale of woe,
He told me far more,
Than I wanted to know.

He’d lost his riches, his home,
And his bride,
And most of all,
He’d lost his pride.

All were taken,
In a very short time,
Taken from him,
When he was in his prime.

He wanted so, to regain a dream
And once again, some self esteem.
He was never able, although he tried,
He was never able, to find his pride.

Suddenly, he ceased to talk,
He looked at me, as he did balk.
Who are you, he finally asked?

I am your remorse,
Your soul, of course.
I am the mirror,
Of your life spent.
Like a Dickens ghost,
I am right here,
And you are my host.

As you see me now,
Your moments are brief,
Let go your anger,
And release your grief.
Notice the clouds,
And how they darken,

Heed me now,
My words do harken.
Better move that Corvette,
‘Cause it’s double parkin’.




Perhaps it was just an idle view, or the view as seen by an idle mind.