This Guy at Work

there is this guy at work,

his wife is dying from cancer,

everyday his face becomes more distant,

the strain more evident as she gets

closer to the edge,

the fear in his eyes so thick

you wonder if he sees anything at all;

he has a daughter,

she is a sophomore in high school (I think),

once I talked with him about her,

as we walked to our cars after work,

but I didn't know what to say,

so I stayed quiet,

like everybody else in the office,

because no one wants to face the terrible

reality of it all,

no one wants to admit,

that when it comes right down to it,

we have no control over our lives

or the people in them,

and that if the truth be told

we’re just puppets,

moving in whatever direction the

puppet master moves us in,

and that with just a little tug

on the string,

one way or the other,

it could be us sitting at our desk

in the corner,

with a blank look on our face,

as we think about our dying wife,

and the daughter who won’t have a mother,

wondering what everyone else is thinking,

not really sure if we want their pity,

not really sure of anything at all,

wanting to be left alone,

yet at the same time;

so afraid by the thought of it.

.

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