Platform Infinity

A stranger passes by wearing dusty, old sneakers,

neck hung low, eyes exhaustively licking the concrete.

Dried romance lingers on his lips, fading with the color

of his once not-so-white skin. A newspaper dangles

loosely between his fingers as if it weights far too much

for any average mortal to carry.

He’s tired, no doubt. Tired of life and its complications.

There he goes, tie twisted, expression as damp

as the sweaty tears frolicking against his pupils;

one foot before the other,

memories failing to remain like the hair on his small head;

a vault that used to possess the most brilliant of minds—

not quite Einstein’s, mind you, but one familiar with the

definition of “living”: adventure, family, air!

And now..

His face lowers into the stench of malcontent,

shoulders drooping with the stress of decaying skin

and heavy, lonely midnight meals.