At the Crosswalks

At the Crosswalks

We were driving on
A lonely dark road,
Severed from the wide avenue
By a long stretch of trees
When my dad's green van let out a loud screech.
Just avoiding a figure on a right turn,
Just a dark lump.

Through the headlights
Illuminating the darkened street,
In between the pedestrian road
Is a lying figure,
Kissing the asphalt, facedown.
Just an old man.

My dad swerves to avoid the man
And pulls over on the curb.
The man is someone we know,
Who lives across the street.
Just an old neighbor that we barely know.

My sister and I stay inside
While my dad goes out to help him out.
The man is heavier than
My one-hundred fifty something dad,
Worse, he's not even sober.
Just another drunk old man.

After some effort, my dad pulls the old man
On to his feet,
When another car cruises down the avenue,
And takes a look at the spectacle.
A couple of younger men,
Mid twenties to early thirties,
Help my dad get the old man to the curb,
Near a darkened house on the corner
So that the old man does not become
Just another man killed in a car accident.

My dad helps the old man down the street,
Back into his house
Where the old man can sober up
During the rest of the evening until sunrise.
Just another drunk man at home.

Afterwards my dad gets back in the car,
Starts the engine and drives
My sister and me back home.
Just another strange evening in suburbia.

A few weeks later, I ask my dad
About what happened to the old man.
He says, the other day,
The old man was out near the liquor store,
Out in the warm sunshine, taking another swig.
Just another man drinking away his golden years.