They are just veins, his mother and father maneuvering their steps.
They hobble through the mall and end up at a table.
Early nineties, blood barely makes it through the arteries.
The limbs and extemities struggle across the floor.
They are loose skin and one day I will be that.
Their curiosity is seen through their shy son.
Late forties, recent divorce dark clothes and depressive brow.
He looks up from the table and his parents who are just loose veins use him to see the world now.
He picks up the keys as if he is goping somwhere but instead he walks into the cafe.
He buys a slice of coffee cake for his parents who couldn't care less about his burdens.
He takes off his black shirt to expose his black tshirt beneath.
His pale skin reflects disdain for a world that had forgotten him a long time ago.
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