A Sad Old Man

Sitting opposite me
The old man tugged several papers
From the grimy confines
Of his winter coat.

Each paper was as crumpled
As soiled as he.

Offering them to me
One at a time
He begged I read them.

Each individual paper
Said he
Was the only one needing attention.
But with the conclusion of the first
He begged the second.
At the end of the second’s
He requested the third.
And so it went
Until a dozen papers were read
Aloud.
He leaned back
Eyes closed
His mouth a straight line.

One page built upon another
Presenting the finding of a judge
That long ago
Administered his forgotten case.
The pages were all in the negative
For this illiterate old man.

Handing the crumpled pages
To him again
He smoothed each one
Folding them back into his coat
As one may do
A treasured letter
Though they were anything but that.

Turning away
He offered no thanks
For the reading.
He said nothing further.

Pulling down his tattered hat
He shrugged away.

I wonder…
Is there any sense of deflation
Equal to that
Of a sad old man
Who carries court papers
As testament
That he
Once upon a time
Actually lived?

Apparently damning documents
Are
To shadow men
Preferable
To no identity at all.