The Rest of My Life





There’s a man I’ve yet to meet

He lives at the farm across the lane

Living there as long as anyone can remember

I see him, darkly dressed, sitting on his tractor

He can raise a thousand acres of corn with that thing

And he can cut them right down again

Staring only at his wheels

When we moved in here

I waved the first few times he passed

He never even saw me

So I stopped waving

In his youth, he survived the long war

These days though, he walks slowly

Out to the mailbox and back

The other day I passed him in my truck

Right there near the end of the lane

He seemed to pause at that very moment

Stared in my direction

I almost waved at him

But he wasn’t looking at me

He had just mailed a letter

And turned around to walk back

Maybe he was having second thoughts

He seems the kind of man

Who knows the weight of his words

I keep thinking I should go over there

Make his acquaintance

But I never get to it

If not, he’ll come by

To visit me

I have something he wants

And he knows

I know it



Text and Image by Tullio DeSantis


Filed under Poetry

9 responses to “The Rest of My Life

  1. Christy

    All day long I will think on this. Hopefully, there are wiser minds than mine amongst your intelligent followers who will help guide me.

  2. Hi Christy. Thanks for stopping by. He is a real man… and he is also a metaphor. Life is like that, I think. This is the poetry of real life…

  3. rustyk8ster

    Making the first move is rarely a mistake.

  4. Marianna Mello

    To each is own of course, but I feel as if life is like this to an extent. This poem holds a sense of limitation to me (because we are all unique and each are here for our own eyes sight/insight), such that the situation is becoming a cycle. Life is the growth of new horizons, discoveries, and evolution. Now, without breaking these seemingly awkward, yet internally fond, thoughtful insights into the everyday observations of such stark beauty in the real ways of being this is just but another step into a new understanding/insight of life itself.

    ** It’s the process of understanding how and why it works that is the beauty to behold, but while observing that understanding I, personally get a little curious and people seem to be more than just strangers along my journey. This poem is touching.

  5. donnamistek

    Love it!

  6. Shaniece Maldonado

    This poem relates to others in so many scenarios in life. I feel the point of this poem is when to know the right time to make the “first move” in any situation, even just to say hi. However, at the last stanza of the poem basically declares he did his part of trying to make acquaintance with the man, eventually the man will reach to him. I know people has been in this position where they have done trying just to make things better and once the other person realize they will eventually make the first move.

  7. Excellent poem, I actually believe I seen who this person is in passing that property. Tail end of the poem left me somewhat perplexed cause you know the man isn’t going to make the initiative if not by now and visa versa. Almost reminds me of that Ying-Yang thing of balance with a divide (as in a line dividing sides to the road), but no gray area of merging the two as one. Solution is to remove the mental line from the road and query the old man. Time waits for no one.

  8. samona nimaga

    I think this poem is excellent and unique. The words relates to things that happens in everyday life. I often wonder about some of my neighbors that I don’t have a dialogue with. Should I make the first move or should I just observe and move on. did you draw this picture and is it a real man you know personally or is it a stranger from afar?

Your comments are welcome.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s