So I was digging through a small wooden box I've had since middle school and came upon something that surprised me.
The little trinket reminded me of the old man who'd given it to me and I ended up writing this poem. The old man lived in my hometown (not on the same street as me but as a friend whom I spent much of my youth with) and I got to know him over the course of a summer (the same summer he passed away).
The old man was always treated differently and as a kid I didn't understand why. It wasn't until I was fifteen or so that I figured it out.
The question I put to you, good reader, is can you tell me why the old man was treated differently?