Old Man

Old man in a near empty house
bridge port to the sea—
(mortgage foreclosure assured)
late in his payments to life,
sits in a lavender lawn chair
meant for picnics or poor people—
pillows stuffed under his bum
like layers of sponge cake.
He sits at a handmade wooden desk
he forged with his own hands
finished in lacquer with the edges
of his fingers tips.
He types prismatic words
forced together like a jagged
Japanese poem or something
resembling a Haiku forgery—
while 2 Persian cats,
Tambala and Shebelle,
meow constantly with passion
with pain, with hunger—
bowls empty, food dried, gone—
lying on the other side of the room.
Old man in a near empty house
bridge port to the sea,
buried in ivy near the sea
where no one ever goes,
when you expect them to.

Hear and see the poet reading “Old Man.”