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I met him
At MacDonalds –
In a quiet section
To be sure,
But we both were
Old
And had no wish
For noise,
Or kids
Running around our seats.

A portly man,
With trembling hands
And a pockmarked face,
He made the first attempt
To speak to me,
But I was here,
On a sudden need
For coffee
And did not engage.

But as he sat,
Now staring straight
Ahead,
I realized
I had disappointed him-
And myself as well:
We elders have
A common bond;
At some stage
There is nothing else
If not to link
What’s left
Of Life
With words.

His silence
Was now my penance,
I suppose,
A trial
Of conscience
In the senior’s section
Of a lost MacDonalds
Somewhere
Near Dunedin.

He seemed lonely,
And judging
By his eyes,
Close
To tears,
I think.
So,
I smiled
And asked him
If we’d met somewhere;
It wasn’t clever,
I knew,
But it was enough
To draw his lips
Into a relieved
Smile
As he shook his head.

‘No’
He said,
Then laughed;
But laughter
Is an introduction,
After all.
Why else
Visit
A MacDonalds
Anywhere,
When you are
Old?

We talked awhile,
And poured our souls
From cooling cups,
And then,
As if it were
Ordained,
We rose
And left
Through different doors,
The words
Still etched
Like smiles
Upon our faces.

I’d like to think
I helped him then,
But when I saw
His eyes relax,
I wondered
If he waits
Each day
In the quiet section
Of MacDonalds
For people
Like me,
Who
Don’t yet know
He’s sitting there
To help…