When I was a boy,
I saw a man with an eye patch.
I looked at mom and asked,
“Is that man a pirate?”
“No.” Said my mother,
Pirates are not real.
I needed to know, what was this man’s deal.
So I walked up and asked him.
“Are you a pirate?”
The man gave a boisterous laugh,
And slapped his knee, jiggling his calf.
“No my son, I am not a pirate.”
“Did you lose your eye in the war?”
The man let out a soft breath,
Perhaps he had seen, the commodity of death.
“No my son, I was not in the war.”
“I know what it is!
You didn’t wear safety glasses.”
Thinking back to my woods classes.
“No, boy. I have never done the craft.”
I finally gave up.
“Well what was it then?”
With the wisdom of wise men,
The man replied-
“I never had my right eye.
It has never been there.
Life is not fair.
We do not all start equal.”
I suddenly felt a slight guilt.
I had overstayed my welcome,
Something I do seldom.
I apologized and shuffled away.
This man was used to the cruel words
Of young boys who mean nothing.
Their words are shallow, and forthcoming.
Even when they are not wanted.
Nonetheless, I learned something that day.
Life is not fair,
But I didn’t care.
Because for me, it was.