An Old Man Reads His Paper

An old man reads newspaper
the old-fashioned way,
the way he's always done.
He thinks holding the paper
with his two hands
makes what he's reading more real,
maybe even true,
but it does not. 
He thinks the bizarre insanity
is more suited to the the flimsy digital world
he's found himself trapped in,
where you can never be certain
if what you're looking at is real or fake.

Never in his wildest imaginings
did he think he'd spend his waning years
feeling like he'd fallen down
an endless rabbit hole,
grasping at straws of reality
as he tries to slow the pace
of this rapid decline into depths
of mayhem he's never before seen
in his many long years of experience—

He wonders if he's losing his mind
as so many of his peers have,
cynically thinking they are the lucky ones 
to escape this madness
that he cannot seem to avoid
for more than moments at a time. 

He puts down the paper
to wipe a tear from his eye. 
He had imagined a peaceful old age,
a time when he could relax and enjoy
his efforts of a lifetime.
He thought he might plant a garden in the yard.
He thought he might play with his grandchildren,
and tell them stories that would make them laugh.
He even thought he might travel now and then,
to places he'd always wanted to visit 
but had been too busy living life to get to.
 
He never expected this.
He gets up and tosses the paper into the trash.
He's had enough for one day,
but he knows he will pick up the paper again
tomorrow, 
hoping against hope
that this has all been a bad dream
or an episode of The Twilight Zone.
He knows that's unlikely,
but maybe,
just maybe,
the headline will say
DEMOCRACY SAVED!
HUMANITY SURVIVES!

~Elise Skidmore ©2025