Dead End # 3

The iron box contained the fruit of years
of bitter hardship and a will to live,
his scant possessions salvaged. On his flight
he'd dragged the lot along – there was too much
he'd have relinquished leaving it behind,

old hopes, old goals, the strength that left his hands,
long-term perseverance – but where the road
came down the slope the bridge was wrecked; there was
no going on, and he sat down and cried -
old man on an old box, at last defied.