having found a dead man…

each day
he wandered down
to the adjoining furniture store
for
coffee
and
conversation
since both
the hotel
and
the furniture store
were owned
by
the same
family
he was
a widower
living
in a cheap hotel
a rather
gregarious old fellow
the kind
authors love
to
write about
in
stories
of
how sociable folks
are
more resilient
than
the uptight assholes
that
tend
to run government
after
a day
or
two
the manager
at
the furniture store
noted
he had not appeared
for
his morning brew
two of us
new staff members
were sent
to check up on him
after
several knocks
on the door
we let ourselves in
with
the master-key
he was in bed
and
quite dead
the first dead person
we’d
ever seen
he looked calm
but
somewhat bloated
by noon
the body had been removed
and
we were instructed
to
replace
the box springs
and
mattress

 

up in the air…

how many
prophets
preach
this way
to
heaven
how many
candles
must
be lit
to
find peace
how many
silent
tears
are shed
while
alone
how many
voices
fill
night air
with
prayers
how many
cold nights
can
one heart
beat
alone
how many
prayers
are
raisins
in
the sun

nugatory ​slumber…

in the night
when you reach
and
the warmth
is gone
the day’s words
of
sincere sympathy
seem
as empty
as
the pillow
besides
your head
and
when sleep
finally comes
night’s
cold arms
all too soon
embrace
each dream
and
memory
of
another’s soul
curled
next
to yours

postponements…

life’s faded
to-do list
held in hands
marred
by time
once strong line
discolored
by
hope’s tears
over the years
promises
made
and sought
now
for naught
an
old man
his mirror
a last friend