The old metal chair sits solitary in the yard
Its faded white paint chipping
On the lawn in shards
Metal glistens in the sun briefly
Then weathers and rusts
Water, wind and sun
Residues on the seat as dust.
He'd sit in the chair
Faded denim jeans
And a shirt thread bare.
My reflection in his eyes
A reflection long since passed
Now just a chair where'd he go and why?
The chair seems to ponder a question
Each day about the old man
Just water, wind and sun
but no answer , no mention.
Just a chair growing rust ripe
Just a remember of the old man's life
Years pass, weeds engulf its frame
The chair just continues to rust
Fades into the fauna as if in shame
The old man once there
Now no longer sits
My visits no longer frequent
To share with me his wit.
My lasting remembrances of him
Were of those flashing lights
That came in a rush
And sped him off into the night.
His eyes met mine
as the ambulance took him away
they spoke to me as if to say,
It's all right boy,
You'll understand some day.
My eyes looking at his
had something to say
But they never could until today
I figured it out not to late
That old man's life
Was to be my fate.
But many years before
I'd revisit that chair
I cleaned and painted that chair
and sit in the cool night air.
It seems to welcome my weight.
The people again pass by and wave
They do a double take and stop to say.
You're taking the shape of the old man
That once sat in the chair
Even the faded jeans and shirt thread bare
Your friendly wave or nod
to all that pass
a younger of version
of that old man that had such class.
They would often inquire
What's become of him?
Where has he gone?
Did he move off
To the retirement home?
He's gone to plan for my comfort
And he left me this chair
He just seems to be gone,
But his presence is everywhere
Unlike the thread bare shirt
And the faded denim
That rests on the chair
My memories of him
Remain crystal clear
Everyday as I sit in the seat
I can still see his eyes and mine meet
I retell his tales
As I rock in the seat.