Old Man McReady came out once a day
to check his mail. We kids would watch and wait
to snicker at his robe of gold lamé
and his three wire-black hairs greased to his pate.
Sometimes we called him names--Nancy, Old Queer
--though we had little notion what they meant.
But we saw the man's pained eyes, his quiet fear
as he shut the dark door. Then off we went.
We were young then, stupid and careless cruel
as only children can be. As I grew
I learned about compassion, guilt, and shame.
Too late for Theodore--that was his name.
He wound up at the bottom of his pool
and dead ten days before anyone knew.
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