The Old Man Drew the Line

The old man drew the line for his son, the executive: “I don’t want you spending money on me! (not as long as there are fathers)”, the line ageless as the independence of time. Musters tears and overflows the inner ear, yet does not matter. It can not cure frailty. I seek him who will seek me out and will believe what I do not believe (that is my frailty). “Sit down here with us,” he says, “You don’t have to impress anyone. Here is my hand. Your age is of no significance.” Ah! I move closer to his mouth and look into his eyes. I do not avert mine, there is no reason to, or retreat into a kindly smile. Ah, companero, you were born on the wrong day when God was paradoxical. You’ll have to find yourself an old dog.