Running Man
Sad memory
He cut my hair for many years, a really sociable man"How was your holiday?" he'd say. "What's your weekend plan?"That's as far as friendship went, until I moved into his street.We'd pass. We'd chat. I met his wife who was really shy and sweet.Later I saw her waste away, some hidden illness there.He'd put a brave face on, to hide his deep despair.After a while she passed away. He seemed to disappear.If I spoke to him some days, he didn't seem to hear.Months later, in the early hours, when mist blocked out the streetI'd find that I'd awakened to the sound of running feet.It was my sad old lonely friend, running like a thief.I understood he'd found a way of pouring out his grief,And so he went for many years, running alone.I knew that though his feet were fleet, his heart had turned to stone. Later, he ws reduced to walking, mile after mile, until recently he died. I undrstood h I understand him very well, because when my wife died, I walked mile afte mile. It is one way of combatting grief.