At the Mall

by James Babbs

he walks with a limp
hair as white as snow
shuffles over and
sits himself down
on the bench next to me
keeps adjusting his leg
until he’s comfortable
looks at me and grins
what’s a young guy like you
sitting down for
he asks
I grin right back
tell him
I’m not that young
and I like to come here
and watch people
I hear him chuckle
but his face
doesn’t seem to change
me too he says
but when you get to be my age
you’ve pretty much seen it all