“Good luck, guy.”
That’s what the old man said
As the red Ford truck drove off
And disappeared over the horizon
But luck is never enough

It was all too short a visit-
They always were
Just as he’d left
Years before
It was not long past midnight

“The witching hour...
That’s when my soul comes to life!”
Or so he used to say
Coming and going as he did
Made me think it a distinctly unhappy hour

This visit was different
I could see it in his eyes
They spoke of illness
Of fear
And that this visit would be his last

So we sat awhile
Exchanged our pleasantries and small talk
Skirted around the heart of the matter
Avoided truths
As we had a thousand times before

I let our farewell handshake linger
It was all I could offer
As an expression of my love
For a stranger
For a friend

I walked back in
Turned off the porch light
As the rumble of the red Ford truck’s engine disappeared
Into the night
And I thought of roads that never end

Ezy Reading is out every month.