I think of him often
he reminded me of my father,
although he probably never hit anyone
he was hard of hearing, and he surprised me
by coming out on his porch
I was trying to sell newspapers,
covering a lonely block
by myself
He didn't want any Morning Tribune
but he did want to show me where he once had
tomato plants,
and to talk about his friends, who were dying
I would have stayed, but my boss was behind me
and we walked back to her car, as he begged for us to stay and talk
I could not stop feeling sad, thinking of him
disappearing behind folds of skin,
shambling about seeing the ghosts of tomato plants,
dying alone
I think I could find his house again
the one with the big porch, on the tree shaded street
but what would I say?
"I'm here to talk about your tomato plants."
It would probably make sense to him
and I wouldn't care
because I know what it's like to be lonely
It is safer, perhaps
to send a Christmas card,
even though I don't know his name
Maybe attached to some plants
"Merry Christmas
I haven't forgotten you
-- Newspaper Girl" |
Submission Name: Newspaper Girl
Keep up the amazing work.