A stout old man sits by himself in the corner

watching his younger brothers with skin more taut than he

delicately placed between seductive red lips –

explosive endings are their fate.

the lines that crease his face

tell tales of sunny days and faraway lands

time spent swaying with the laughter of birds and the dance of the sun.

the lines on his face are the lines on the face of the old man with the brown skin

humming as he makes his way through the haven of blue and green

a sack of blue on his back

a straw in his mouth and a love on his mind.