Awful (Poetry)

I bumped into an old friend the other day
and before the ‘how are yous?’ were out the way
he asked me about her — the lovely child
who must be ‘how old — twenty something?’ and
                                he smiled.
I had to grit my teeth, shrug, sigh and then admit
she left some years ago — no real sense to it...

It wasn’t awkward — much to my surprise
there was sorrow in his voice and in his eyes —
real sympathy, not just a soothing pat
upon the arm — his tone said more than that.
The word he used was ‘awful’ — and defined
the hollow chill inside — my fragile state of mind.

We talked a bit — five minutes — little more
totting up the years I think he saw
the change in me — the tiredness setting in
while I took stock what age had done to him.
We parted ‘things to do — take care — good luck...’
all words well-meant — but only ‘awful’ stuck.