Old Widower Man - Poem #65

Every morning
old widower man sits outside his tiny trailer
in a worn aluminum folding chair
under an awning not far from the pier

Reads the paper
drinks coffee through teeth stained in nicotine
(some of which are still his own)
holding a stogy with nicotine fingers, listening to the gulls

Afternoons, if it’s not too hot, he gathers with the other ancients
to play pinocle or drop a line to catch a fish
sit in the folding chair all day
catching and shooting the breeze.

His son and wife have come to town
staying at the Motel 6
widower man’s trailer much too small
for company

“It’s time for you to come with us
back home to Indiana
to that nice assisted living place we talked about;
after all, you are four score and ten.”

“We want to hear no more about it!
You’re  much too old  to live alone, here in this trailer park;
this dump so far away from us;
we’ll pick you up on Saturday; take you home to Indiana.”

And when they left for Motel 6
widower man took his folding chair to the darkened pier
sat by the water in the moonlight, looking over the bay
listening to the night sounds, humming “Perfidia”

his young fingers
gently held a woman’s breast
his nicotine fingers
gently held a gun.

.