He Had It Coming to Him
By Maren Warner
I opened the newspaper, scanned and read,
Let out a sigh and shook my head.
Mr. Thomas, age eighty-eight,
Died suddenly on Saturday late.
“He had it coming to him,” is what I said,
Of him who was gone, buried and dead.
He was an old man, crusty and mean,
The most unpleasant person I’d seen.
I won’t send flowers with a ribbon and bow.
I won’t say goodbye or put on a show.
“What’s this,” I scoffed, “an Eagle Scout?”
A very good one, I doubt.
Oh, he served in one, two, three wars,
Earned honors, medals and more.
He lost his wife early on
Along with his only son.
I didn't know.
I didn’t try to get to know.
If I’d looked closer, would I have seen
A light of sorts that once had been?
What were his memories of days gone past?
Happy times that he hoped would last?
Did he have times of contentment and fears?
Did he have times of laughter and tears?
All tucked away inside his mind,
Hid away for no one to find.
He had it coming to him, but in a kind way.
A friendly "Hello, how are you today?"
Did anyone try to build a trust?
I should have tried to get through the crust.
Making a difference starts with me.
I know now that's how I ought to be.
“He had it coming to him,” some may say.
Good or bad it’s coming some day.