Not As Sharp As It Was
By birksy
One more thing that fell down, made no noise, turned no heads, and with his sight not as sharp as it was, he would have missed it. From here it looks like a blank calling card, forgotten name, worn off the front, but still even that could be precious. The man misses it again, with wrinkled hand, moving dust on the floor, I sit and watch as his fingers hardly reach. I walk across the gap so small, and say, with friendly smile, that there’s one more thing that fell down, picking it up with ease. Before I pass it back to him, I flip it over, and on the other side there’s writing as if soaked through. There’s no time to read. But still the old man thanks me, it might have been rubbish, or priceless. He takes it from my still hand, thanks me once again. Written May 13th, 1999 © on Jan 04 2002 08:14 AM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 9
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"One more thing that fell down,..."