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Studying People

By Wil C. Fry, March 6, 2001, 17:59

Copyright © 2001 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.


I stood in the church
Facing the open coffin
Saw the clumsily masked decaying form
And then at the mist-layered grave site
As the overpriced wooden box was lowered
Into the moist and yawning earth
And said to myself
“There, someday, shall I be”

I stood on the street corner
Watching the oblivious passersby
Saw the wrinkled stooped old man
His eyes cloudy, his electric ear humming
And saw his clothes that had been new in 1975
Hanging loosely from his shrunken frame
And said to myself
“Will I ever look like that?”

I sat on the overstuffed sofa
Facing the crowded living room
Saw the plump innocent bright-eyed infant
Every sense awakening new-found joy in his heart
And saw that nothing seriously troubled him
As he played there on the carpeted floor
And said to myself
“Was I ever that young?”

I stood in my bathroom
Staring with disquietude at the mirror
Its shiny surface reflecting a well-known face
A face stranded between innocence and the grave
I saw the growing wrinkles, the tired eyes
Slightly worried, slightly satisfied
And said to myself
“Who is that?”



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