An old man
Sits on the porch of his shotgun shack
Out on Route 322 south of Meadville

He sees you but you don't see him
May be speeding past sixty miles an hour
He can see you

Hhe can see your hopes and dreams and fears
Trailing behind
Like scraps of paper that have been torn from a map

I am damned
To almost see what could have been
To almost know what should have been

I am free
No dignity remains to remind me of the man I used to be
Sorrow hangs on me like a baggy suit of clothes