The old man stands calm
and collected with
stuttering hands
and hands me the book titled
“the way to happiness”
the bags under his eyes hang like
bathing suits pinned with clothing pins
on the clothing line in the
shining of summer time
his hair is white with grey
tints appearing slightly
with round glasses his eyes
are kind and opened to
each declining stranger
he wears a plastered smile
I will never
known if he found it in the
description of fictional
characters
or if he ripped it from
the magazines
piled on the wooden dining room table
if he found it sitting
on the bench located
in front of the bus stop
or the man strumming his guitar
gifting smiles for all to
hear the melodies
that escape from his
wounded lips
I will never know
how he found his way to happiness.