I saw the young man in the dark suit and narrow tie
With the big-toothed smile in a mouth that couldn’t close,
His hat keeping his hands busy in the doorway,
Expectant, about to be cut down at the beginning of his life.
 
“You oughtn’t to treat a fella that way,”
He said turning back, descending the plank steps and
Tossing his hat into a side pouch of his Indian,
Then scooting away.
 
Something happened there that I’ll never know
Because now on the bathroom floor before me
He lies supine with frozen limbs, a generation later,
As I watch helpless to help,
His fingers again fumbling an imagined derby,
Never to rise on his own again.
 
All he can say is “You oughtn’t to treat a fella that way,”
His eyes focused on something I cannot.
All I see is the pocket-sized photo that I’ve dug out so often
From the sock drawer
Tiny and creased and gray
And now I understand
Why he frowns and why he tries so hard to look like a man,
Furrowed brow, head tilted forward, tall and leafy thin.
Straight and homely, unafraid but doomed just the same.
 
I’ve never heard these words from him before,
He the rock, the fortress we all hide in,
Now collapsed, without hope,
Reverting to a plaintive moment never lost or forgotten
Or, if so, now returned to haunt his end.
 
“You oughtn’t to treat a fella that way.”
 
And so I’ll be gentle and try to do right by him,
Try to see that he has dignity, comfort for the time remaining.
If I fail, then all he’s done for me was a waste.
Now parent and child reverse roles
While I give back what I owe
And look upward and repeat to whoever might be listening,
 
“You really oughtn’t to treat a fella that way.”