Old man Millsap was a sad little creature.
He lived down the road with
his wife and daughters
Who, sad to the world, had
their father's features
And grew to be spinsters with
no social graces.
A quiet sort, old Millsap,
the handyman;
Skilled with a hammer and saw
or a wrench.
He could build a shed in the
spit of a minute,
Clean up and be gone without
leaving a trace.
Everyone thought him an odd
little man;
Someone to pity, perhaps even
fear.
Though his heart was awash
with the kindness of ages,
His stoic demeanor was
misunderstood.
And the tattered attire and
ramshackled pickup
He drove didn't help his
persona at all.
People had such a hard time
seeing past the surface
To find that part that was
good.
Old Millsap took masses of
teasing and taunting
From self-righteous
hypocrites lost in themselves;
People who joy at the expense
of others,
Who laugh and cajole as they
pull on the reins.
Little wonder they could not
imagine
What must have possessed him
that fateful evening
When all the walls came
tumbling down.
Old Millsap went home and
blew out his brains.
