"The Man I Never Met"

"The Man I Never Met"

Khaki pants with cuffs
that draped over house slippers.
Suspenders clamp to his pants
and he always checks his zipper.
A buttoned down dress shirt
that was always tucked in neat
and a dusty old cushion
that always lined his seat.
Glasses thick enough
to reflect the sun's rays
and the same multicolored tie
that he wore every single Sunday.
Coffee mug on the table
and the sports page in hand
that barely hid his eyes
from the neighborhood he scanned.

There's that old man again
flirting with his "lady friends."
He never asks when they are leaving;
just when they'll be back again.
Some find it awfully absurd
for him to have a way with words.
Others just hope when they get old
that their words can still be heard.
No matter what the weather,
he will always find a way.
Hell, he put that deck together.
He sits out there every day.
He always had something to say;
be it witty or wise
and knew everyone by name;
even when wearing a disguise.

His wife was a saint.
She was such a nice lady.
He talks about her often
along with his seven babies.
Six boys and one girl.
Two of them are twins.
Three of them fuss and fight;
as the eldest sits and grins.
One loved to lift weights;
but he's lost all of that muscle.
Another traveled upstate;
claiming to stay out of trouble.
One was a Jack of all trades;
but his life was hard to master.
One took right after his father;
finding women to chase after.
The daughter was quite profound.
He called her his firecracker.
Every time he came around,
she brought him joy and laughter.
Her and his wife would butt heads
as did most mothers and daughters;
but she was always Daddy's girl.
She never disobeyed her father.

His wife was more than nervous
when he was called for service.
She didn't know how to act;
but he promised he would be back.
Indeed he did return
with a big bag of clothes
that were torn and burned.
She was happy, yet still concerned.
He still looked the same.
He still had that familiar grin
that beamed from his dark skin;
but he was not the same within.
It only took one pointless war
to incur the most painful scars:
His were memories he can't forget
as he saw things he surely regrets.
Her's were things she's never seen
from one who can't recall his queen.
The children were often caught between
all that was vulgar and obscene.

As the days dragged by,
his tortured mind began to die.
His mood swings were too much.
His wife would often cry.
His simple life was upstaged
because he couldn't turn the page.
His violent temper was the primer
for his drunken fits of rage.
There was nothing he could do.
There was no one who could help.
He lost all that he once knew.
That was when he lost himself.
That's when he left without a sound.
He was nowhere to be found.
His wife often asked around;
hoping he'd soon be homeward bound;
but he left without a trace
until a body was misplaced.
They let her see his face;
but it didn't carry his grace.

No one knows the truth.
Very few knew he was gone.
There were no remnants of proof;
so they eventually left it alone.

Dark pants with cuffs
that rested above dress shoes.
Matching belt around my waist
that had the exact same hue.
A buttoned down dress shirt
featuring a Double Windsor
and a solid sport coat
that I often wore in the Winter.
Contact lenses in my eyes
although I love my glasses
and a watch I often checked
whilst my sister was in choir practice.
A thermos sat on the table.
I kept my phone in hand.
I kept my mother on the speaker
as I text my girlfriend for later plans.

I often think about that man;
wondering if I have any of his ways.
If he were sitting next to me,
I wonder what he would say?
Would he constantly remind me of
how much I look like his daughter?
Or maybe how my brother is so active
that his uncle could've been his father?
Maybe I'd get the chance to hear
about how much Grandmother scolds him
about eating so much bread with dinner
although he says she never told him.
I know it would've been great
to observe where I come from;
but I guess I came too late;
so I just sit here; feeling numb.

I never got the chance to forget
or even a small shot at regret;
so I sit outside every day
thinking about the man I never met. <3

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz


For you, Grandfather.