Old Legs, M.Roberts

Old Legs
By Matt Roberts

There is panic in a place of work.
Some run but most stand by
in dumb frozen shock.
The gray, mature man dies

lying in paperwork. Fits and foams.
He becomes numb and watches
his feet twitch for the last time.
Thinks of the places they’ve taken him.

The little boy toddles by him
and with his tiny legs, red shoes,
he climbs the stairs of the house
that he lived in as a child.

His eyes don’t close, they cloud over
there is a peace he’s never known.
It fades to black then for a brief
moment, everything becomes clear.