Oldman’s Letter
If you would walk with me now, an hour or so,
I would no longer be alone.
If you would talk with me now, or better still listen,
I would no longer be invisible.
I am old and I am cold,
I am tired and alone.
I’ve lived in a house I’ve been in all my life
and I dance to music long since forgotten.
I walk the streets
amongst those who speak
with authority on Hegel and Kant,
on modernism and postmodernism,
on cynicism and hope,
in the words of the street.
My blue jeans are grey,
my smile is forced,
and my hands are shaky.
My cheery greeting is fake.
I send you this letter
so you don’t feel alone
as the evening fades into
the night.
Peter Cartwright
December 2017
