Old man crosses the street
Never looks at the blue car stopped and waiting
Doesn’t wave doesn’t nod
Pants low and bursting bags slung high
Maybe his smile is packed away up there
Bent-shoulder-shuffle curb to curb
Where did he come from
Maybe from another Saturday
One with jokes and jabs and wishes
Crossing this same road
All waves and saunter
Towards dark and bright futures
Now here we are
And there he goes towards another
-T. Weeks
Life Immense 