Harry’s Lunch

The old man placed his order
His wait in line was long
And shaded specs
Betrayed the fact
His vision almost gone.
But smile he did
As one young kid
Just chattered on and on.
Each Thursday noon
He took a cab
And left his lonely room
To join the crowd
Alive and loud
And tastes of life consume.
His cooking was the  meagrest
Five years the wife was gone.
But here the swirl
And one young girl
Gave strength to carry on.
She called him by his first name
Her voice held honest care
She knew on cue “his usual”
She helped him to his chair.
She sounded much like “Anna”
In courting days long gone
And years and tears just vanished
And “Harry” shuffled on.

Doug Blair, Waterloo, Ontario

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