The old man
Who lives across from me
Keeps his shades up.
I can see how he lives.
Alone at night,
He sits and watches television
On his leather couch.
He watches every night
Until eleven
When the lights go out.
In the daytime
I see him on my street
Making his way to a restaurant
For breakfast or for lunch.
He doesn’t stop to say hello
To anyone.
On the weekends
The routine is the same.
No grown-up children,
No grandchildren come to visit him.
John peered out the window
At him once
And said,
“It must be nice to live that long.”
“No.” I said,
“Not if you’re alone.”