Ever since Joe Busick retired <br />he leaves the door to his apartment wide open <br />so that when I pass in front of it <br />to get to my place he rushes into the hall <br />and starts to speak <br />about three pairs of new shoes <br />he bought in an Italian shoe store <br />or the upcoming surgery on his left eye <br />to fix a cataract <br />or the person below trying to get him evicted <br />because he flushes the toilet <br />too many times, twelve I’ve been told, <br />always in rapid succession <br />or asks read any good books because he’s seen <br />my walls lined with them <br />from floor to ceiling <br />although his place doesn’t have a single one, <br />also no pictures, <br />the walls painted salmon pink. <br />I’ve never seen a soul enter his apartment. <br />Some days he actually sits in the hallway <br />waiting for words to happen. <br />He dyes his hair a reddish brown. <br />Four years ago a woman living in a private house <br />across the street accused him of masturbating <br />in front of his window, shades up. <br />The TV stays on all day now <br />played much too loudly <br />except when the door is open <br />or he’s perched in the hall.<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-stranger-having-departed-without-any-one-su/
