Dear Misguided Elderly

Dear Misguided Elderly,

Your clothes are not quite in style, the colours not quite in nature. Your mind is not all here, your hair is not all yours. Your livers spots slowly align to the shape of the county i live in, and then move away to form a car i once owned. Your words are spoken backward, your smile is not your own. You might miss your medication, the one that holds your education, witch i must say is a limit unmistaken. You say that time holds greater knowledge, but i see you often late. The can you hold is weathered and worn, but you have faith that it will never break. You give your most beaten gaze to the youth misunderstood, misguided, and misevolved. But all the same you sit with me here, and tell me the story of a thursday 37 years before, the day you found your hope. I misunderstand you, as you misunderstand me. A conversation through a barrier of ages. I with open ears and mournful, you with filtered thoughts and grateful.

Thank you for the past,
- The Man on the Clapham Omnibus.