The Old Man in the ParkA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe old man sat on the long park bench Where the children used to play, He seemed to be harmless, sitting there Though he’d be there every day. His pockets were always full of sweets And he’d smile a kindly smile, But mothers would huddle nervously, They suspected him of guile.
‘What do you think he’s up to,’ said One mother to her friend, ‘I’ve read some terrible things about Young children and old men.’ ‘Can’t you see that he’s harmless, He’s so old, and frail and sick, He’s just like a kindly grandfather Who walks with a walking stick.’
‘He shouldn’t be handing out those sweets, We don’t know what’s inside, What if it’s something horrible And one of the children died?’ ‘You need to become more trusting, He’s out here in the light of day, I hope that he didn’t hear you, That’s a terrible thing to say!’
He smiled and nodded, and fell asleep Sat back on the wooden seat, His overcoat had seen better days And so, the shoes on his feet, He woke when the children whooped about, Swung high on the rusty swings, Tempted the children with his sweets And to some, he muttered things.
‘What did the old man say to you?’ One whispered to her son, “He asked if I wanted knowledge, if I did, then he’d give me some.’ ‘You’re not to speak to him anymore,’ The woman cried, in fear, It isn’t right that he fills your head, By rights, he shouldn’t be here.’
She went to sit on the wooden seat And she grabbed him by the sleeve, ‘What do you mean by ‘knowledge’ then, I think you ought to leave!’ ‘I mean no harm, I’m a kindly man And I love those children dear, I’d give my all to be young again And I feel young when they’re near.’
She nodded, said that she felt ashamed, And patted him on the arm, Then got up, leaving her son to play She’d lost all sense of alarm. The boy was tempted again by sweets And the old man grabbed his hand, ‘Just stare right into my eyes, my boy, I’ll take you to fairyland.’
The old man’s eyes were hypnotic when He stared, and soon glowed red, And then the little boy trembled as A lifetime flowed in his head, The old man smiled, and his hand relaxed As the young boy turned to go, ‘At last,’ he capered, and danced about, And the old man sank back, slow.
The mother came to collect her son, He was nowhere on the green, She went to the old man on the bench, ‘Where’s John? You must have seen!’ The old man struggled to sit upright And held out a trembling hand, ‘I’ve waited ever so long for you, But I don’t think I can stand!’
David Lewis Paget © 2014 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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