Straighten Up and I'd Fall

The sun
was overhead.

Midday,
with nowhere to hide.

A low thatched house.

A tree
with its head pressed down.

And
an old man leaning on a stick.

His back
was deeply bent.

“Shall I
straighten your back for you?”

The old man said,

“Leave it.”

“You look
as if it's hard.”

The stick
went a little forward.

The old man
bent lower
and put his weight on it.

“Straighten up
and I'd fall.”

From the sea

the wind pushed in.

The tree
was pressed lower still.

The old man's back
grew rounder too.

He did not

fall.

I

looked not at the bent back

but at the hand on the stick.

On the back of that hand

the midday sun

had settled, white.