Briefly Visiting

He came, wholly unsought, the
last person not of this world I
would expect to see, as though he had
explicit permission to casually drop by
as would a fondly recalled friend, a
family member, a dear companion.
Yet there he was, as though he had a
right. His sallow sour mouth that
curled disparagingly in speaking of
others whose values did not mirror his.
How could they, for his concerns were 
solely for self. Kindness was a stranger
to him whose presence he spurned. His
children feared his torments, his parents,
grey and frail, despaired at his predations
upon them. Exulting at the life-trials
of others, a most unsavoury human.
Standing before me as I saw him last
many decades ago, he appeared robust, 
not spectral. His bony face hosting
that same grimace of malice, but his
brow so oddly furrowed. Could it be
regret at disowning humanity during
his life when opportunity allowed?