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Sitting in the Sun

Sometimes he's there 
with his coffee, 
loaded with sugar, 
and a pack of cigarettes. 

Sometimes he walks 
around the house, 
speaking to someone 
that he used to know. 

Sitting in the sun, 
skin like leather, 
eyes small and with 
a sense of wonder. 

Sometimes he pounds 
his fist on his 
lap, arguing with 
the man he used to know: 

a father that died 
years ago, who's 
love is missing from 
his life in the sun. 

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