last night

I had a great time last night at this artshare I went to. A bunch of people doing readings, mostly, of poems, plays, etc that they've written, all to great acclaim from us, the audience.

There's an old guy I see. He must know more than me. He must.
But I go to his house. To his house. And I show him what to do.
How can it be that I know more?
I charge by the hour, so I can't ask him what he knows.
I can't waste his time, his money.
I can't learn about his 80-some years, about his life, all that he knows.
I'm sad that our interaction is him paying me for my silly knowledge.
I imagine what he knows as I collect my cheque.
I imagine what I could learn and wish I didn't have to get paid for the time I spend with him.