Charles Gregory, Author

in my older age
when memory first betrayed me
I set out against my family’s wishes—
a walkabout journey on wheels
across the country
over highways, roads, bridges

no destination in mind
I would know arrival
only when I arrived

days stretched into nights
city lights blurred into fields
until at last
a small town appeared—
a place forgotten
with a roadside diner
from yesteryear

inside, the air was quiet:
a weary waitress
a cook behind the grill
a scrawny young man
hunched at the counter

I slid onto the stool beside him
his face lit by the cold glow of a phone
scrolling endlessly
shoulders bent
as if carrying a weight
no one could see

he looked up—startled, uncertain—
not rude, but guarded
protecting a wounded heart

so I did what was taught to me
back in my twenties:
extended my hand with confidence
after a pause
he gave his own—fragile, uncertain

I gripped it firmly
my name’s Robert, I said
I’m here on an adventure

he hesitated, then answered
I’m Bobby

the name anchored there
simple, unadorned
between two kindred strangers

I smiled, held his gaze
son, put a little effort into it
a handshake should never falter
disappear, or crush

Bobby adjusted
put more weight into the grip
there you go, Bobby, I said
now look me in the eye—
not a glare
but with kindness and inquiry

the waitress appeared
all country warmth and grace
either of you ready to order, my dears?

coffee with sugar and cream—
and a slice of apple pie
Bobby replied

I’ll start with coffee and honey, with cream
I told her

Bobby looked at me oddly
honey? he asked

yes, I said, smiling
healthier than sugar
an acquired taste
but once you acquire it
you’ll never go back

tastes change over time, my son
like many things in life
the things dismissed in youth
become the things
you can’t live without

Bobby chuckled
I studied him and said
Bobby—
you remind me of my grandson
in looks, at least

he shifted uneasily
unsure whether to take it
as compliment or curiosity

I’m sorry, my son—
I mean that in a good way
we’ve only just met
and I don’t know you

what I’ve learned
is to call things as they are—
not to fib through
polite unpleasantries
you can be tactful
you can be kind
and still tell the truth

Bobby smiled
thank you, Robert

I nodded
your parents raised you well

then asked
what brings you to this diner
so late at night?
shouldn’t a young man like you
be out with his friends
or maybe on a date
with a beautiful gal?

Bobby chuckled lightly
I wish, Robert
truth is I’m socially awkward
don’t have many friends
and I wouldn’t know the first thing
about asking a girl out

I was about to respond
but Bobby continued—
as if my words had opened a door
long kept shut

the truth is, Robert
I’m a little lost
I don’t know what direction
to take in life
most days I feel like I’m wandering
drifting without a compass

I’m in school
but nothing they teach me
tells me who I am
or why I’m here

everyone asks what do you want to be
as if life can be reduced
to a career or a paycheck
but I don’t even know
what I believe in yet

I scroll my phone
see everyone else
smiling, living—
while I sit here wondering
if any of it’s real

the world feels loud
shouting who I should be
yet I feel unseen
like my voice doesn’t matter

sometimes it feels like
I see the world differently
from everyone else—
like I’m awake in a dream
where everyone else is sleeping
I don’t quite belong
to the rhythm they’re marching to
and I don’t know
if I ever will

I leaned back, listening
let his words settle—
the voice of youth
yet echoing the ache
of an entire generation

Bobby, I said gently
you’re not as alone as you think
every soul, in every age
faces this wilderness—
the silence between
who you are
and who you’re becoming

the world will try to brand you
sell you
distract you with applause or shame
but you don’t have to let their noise
become your compass

seeing the world differently—
that’s not a curse
it’s a gift
it means your eyes are awake
you notice what others pass by
you wrestle with questions
most are too afraid to ask

I wandered many years myself, Bobby
mirroring your journey
lost in questions
unsure of my place

someone from my past
changed my direction
altered my trajectory
they spoke truth to me
when I couldn’t find it on my own

and in time
I found my faith
it became my beacon
my north star
when the world shifted
when memory betrayed me
when even friends faded—
that faith held steady

I don’t say this as a sermon
but as a fellow traveler:
what anchors you
will one day save you

we talked of many things
dreams, regrets
truths gathered
along the way

but my eyes grew heavy
far past my bedtime
I needed a room for the night

before leaving
I leaned close beside Bobby
snapped a selfie
yes—
even at my age
I knew what a selfie was

I gave him a hug
God bless you son

the next morning
I woke with peace
as though my journey was complete
content, I turned my wheels toward home

when my family asked about my travels
I told them of the roads
the small towns
the boy at the diner
I showed them the picture on my phone

they looked at me strangely
then pulled out an old photo album

from its pages—
a black-and-white photograph
me, in my youth
seated at a counter
looking just like Bobby

and beside me
in that faded frame
an older man
smiling
looking just like me

it was no chance at all
but grace unmeasured—
a crossing written
before either man could walk the road

an unchanced encounter
where time bent low
and memory
became mercy

 

About this Poem
This poem was born from a question both simple and profound: If I could go back in time and speak to my younger self, what would I say?

It also reflects my ongoing work in story-poems, as my wife and I are creating a fantasy epic in verse. Alongside that larger journey, this piece became an experiment—shaped by the influence of A.R. Ammons, whose long poem Garbage remains a favorite of mine. Ammons’ openness—his willingness to abandon strict grammar, let thought dictate rhythm, and create breathing space between stanzas—inspired me to loosen form here and allow the voice itself to carry the meaning.