The Chair

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The Chair

The old man sits in a chair by the door

waiting for someone who’s been there before.

His skin is as thin as rice paper page,

drooping face speckled with spots of his age.

Drowsy head bobbing with white hair askew,

as light leaves the sky and lawn fills with dew

No headlights appear and shaking his head

Weary he rises and shuffles to bed


The old man sits by the door in a chair

no children or friends come visit him there.

Stirring as thoughts of them surface and rise.

With muscles twitching he opens his eyes,

through rheumy lenses and limited view

he sees youth passing, amazed how time flew.

The door remains closed, sealed tightly with rust.

The chair’s now empty, filled only with dust.

The Sink Window

The old woman stands, leans against the sink,

and stares through windows to look and to think

Her steps now falter on knees filled with pain.

Wistfully her eyes stare down the long lane.

Wrinkles map her face. Age spots back her hands

wearying quickly from daily demands

No family seen she turns and shakes her head,

closing the curtains she hobbles to bed.


The old woman wakes and on the sink leans,

her body is bent, face lined with ravines.

She stares at her hands, once supple and sure,

resting on the sink misshapen and sore.

Puckered lips sag into a toothless frown.

Her youth’s flown away her clock has wound down.

The curtains are closed as stray breezes sigh,

The windows are dark. The sink remains dry.

Busy Children

Children caught up in personal affairs

no time for one who sits alone in chairs,

no time to give them and no time to think

of someone who waits and stands at the sink.

Busy with family everyday

not recognizing how time slips away.

Someday you will be waiting for a call,

wanting affection, no matter how small.


Quickly the children grow and leave the nest,

lifetime spouses die and are laid to rest.

Embers of hope weaken and barely glows

when no one calls and no one shows.

Traveling salesmen are greeted with glee

and “Witnesses” invited in for tea.

It will happen much sooner than you think,

and be you in the chair or at the sink.


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About the Author: Thomas Beck


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