There is a man
With a hat in his hand
Who floats through life
With a ready apology.
He appears sad, melancholy,
Nostalgic for something he never experienced
But desperately desired
Yet can no longer articulate or remember.
He walks to work,
An invisible clerk,
Carefully selects groceries
When he can afford them,
Occasionally treating himself to chocolate holiday eggs,
Rich and milky with creamy caramel centers,
Like the ones his mother used to give him,
One a day,
Making them last,
Savoring them slowly
Like rare bubbles of oxygen to a
Drowning man.
Toothbrush,
Stained mug,
Fabric chair with threadbare arms,
And a nice warm blanket that insulates him from harm,
Protects him from the thorny navigations and complications outside.
On weekends
When there is nowhere to go
He stays cocooned in bed
Wondering what it would be like to have what others do,
Like the woman downstairs in 4-D.
He considers these longings fleetingly
Then retreats again inside deprivation and comfort.
© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Photo: Evan-Amos
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