His pants were about three inches above his ankles

Were they jeans, I couldn’t tell

He was moving around the lawn of the house where the new neighbors lived

But I hadn’t seen him there before

It was typically just kids

But as I walked today

I thought it was strange

That that old man was in the yard instead

His hair was scraggly, long, and white

He had an oval head

His build was wiry

But the sort that could probably conceal some might

Suspenders held up his pants

On the sidewalk in front of the house were some ants

The man’s car trunk was open

I glanced and saw some ratchet straps, a shovel, and an ax

I didn’t want to stare but it felt like an omen

Where were the kids typically in this cul-de-sac

That brick house stood beautifully in the circle

River water on its sides and back

The April sky was pretty

Out from the house walked a cat – black

Raised beds were in the front yard

The man dipped in his hands

I was feeling disarmed

The neighborhood was quiet

I rounded the corner to my own home

A flyer on the mailbox read, “Is this kid one you know?”

There were three of them – 3 different kids

Missing, it said

They were the kids from the cul-de-sac

I was taken aback

How long had they been missing

I went back to the house where the old man was

I hid behind the trees

As I watched him digging a pit from his knees

His hands were dirty

He mumbled, “Won’t be needing these”

As he tossed some straps into the pit

Along with an ax

Then his suspenders

Oddly enough, he then brought out of the house some chicken tenders

The sunlight beamed at 6 pm

A warm breeze blew as I looked at him

He took off his boots and socks

Sat down on a block

“Oh hey, Archie,” he said to the black cat

As he fed the cat a piece of cheese

Bike handle bars popped out of the ground

He took out some matches

Lit a fire for old times’ sake

I looked at his car, saw the license plate – Alaska

He told the cat, “Those kids could use some toughening up

The grandkids’ heart for adventure is just my luck

I gave them and their parents directions to my place in Anchorage

But they don’t know that my memory’s been off a smidge

That I’ve spent the last few years living off the land

Roaming the wilderness

Catching fish, growing vegetables, hunting with my own hands

I’ve barely seen the sun all winter

Some would say it’s made me bitter”
He licked his fingers from the chicken tenders

“They might not make it through the snowfall”

I listened as the old man spilled all – to his grandkids’ cat

He finished his dinner then took a nap

I never saw those kids again

But as time went on the old man was less and less thin

He sure reveled in springtime on the coast

He lived in that house on the cul-dec-sac

Those three missing kids never made it back