Ode to "That Man"

he wipes his mouth and excuses himself out loud from the table,

though he lives alone,

A napkin forgotten,

slips from his lap and coats a spot on the rug's looking up,

Where? Where? Searches a naked orchid stem for its blossoms,

"They were here yesterday!"

"Oh, let it go." Says the soil, says the soil.

Its evening, no one is in the apartment,

Stillest than no one in the apartment,

The now more relaxed napkin continues to be held onto,

The soil has knocked itself out of the pot,

A piece of sunlight lies on the table, woodbathing.

WHO and WHAT pass through the apartment,

Pulling a pillow from the couch,

Removing one strand of spaghetti from its box,

Stopping a lit incense stick half way,

Together, each holding one side of it,

They place a shinny penny under the carpet.

The doorbell sounds,

The napkin moves a little,

It's Man,

checking to see if one dream has come home.

Emerging just behind his frown, a sparkling new tooth,

outside from a let-go-boyhood-memory of not having one for a very long time,

right in the front where everyone could see,

especially the girls.