An ode to the man who thanked me for listening

Today I fall in love with an 87-year-old man
As he tells me tales of his retired teaching days;
Kids counting snowflakes on black jackets and
Calculating the number of snowflakes that fell over the state of Maine,
Yellow paint in the parking lot outlining maps of the world (over the faculty parking, of course)
And making up poetry, line by line, row by row, on bus trips.

I fell in love today, with the spirit trapped inside an old man’s body.
As he stops during his walk
To ask a simple request of a stranger: to listen.
And as I hear, I see him truly
Wrinkles upon wrinkles beneath his eyes
And missing teeth and pink gums
Don’t conceal his soul’s smile
As he says kindly,
“I didn’t teach subjects, I taught kids.”

Tagged: elderly, listening, old man, poetry, retired teacher, teacher