Every Man Knows This

Every man knows this,
and women likely too,
the way the room grows colder
than the one you once walked through.

The nods become much shorter,
the handshakes lose their weight,
and people start to speak for you
before your thoughts are straight.

Your world becomes a hallway,
a corner and a chair,
and young men talk right through your words
as if you are not there.

You offer up a hard-earned thought,
they wave it off with grace,
then point you to the smaller task
Then smile and take your place.

You know it. You can feel it.
The air is growing thin.
The door you used to enter by
no longer lets you in.

But bills still stack like sandbags.
And duty locks the gate.
So you climb no hill, you bide your time,
and call that wisdom, wait.

Then faster come the darker thoughts,
the names, the graves, the years,
the faces of the ones you love,
half prayer and half in tears.

I wish I held some lantern high,
some polished phrase to share.
Instead I bring this weathered voice.
Please keep me
somewhere
near.

—Bryan Brouwer