I watched the old man on the park bench
wince as he tried to clench a fist
shake his head, dip his his chin,
wipe his brow and eyes with his left hand
then mutter, “life is short, so damned short,
but God, sometimes …”

He looked at me, with a tear in his eye,
his head bobbing in time with the realization,
“sometimes,
it’s not short enough.”

I handed him a five and walked away.