The Old Man Is Crying

The old man is crying.
It’s only a little, but still
It makes me wonder if he should.
Why tell him not to?
He’s from a slower time
Where roadkill and sad news lingers.
You could not fast-forward or rewind then.
He sees a sad and wonder-filled world now.
Let him cry.
People have to yell at him.
They have to yell to reach him.
1925, that’s where he’s from.
He remembers when there was always a deeper hurt.
His first love leaves with another.
His virginity, gone with another.
His wife, gone with another.
His children, gone with another.
Eventually, he tells me,
You stop getting so hurt.
You just remember the hurt you felt.
And that’s why he cries.