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, ee 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 pull

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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