If I listen carefully

If I listen carefully

I can hear the song

Of the old man

Sitting in the doorway

Surrounded by rags

Collected from dumpsters

Legs wrapped in bandages

Lumpen old pipes

Lagged to prevent

Freezing in winter

Open toed sandals

Covered with plastic bags

He sings a forgotten song

A lament

For those lost days

Of summer

When the sky was full

Of uncounted

Wished upon stars

And a picture book moon

Hung so low

It seemed close enough

To touch

Now not so much

His dog warms his lap

His nose cold

When it touched

The bare skin

Beneath his coat

The shiver ran through

Them both

And they snuggle up close

The old man pulls a stogie

From beneath his cap

Pulls it in deeply

Too late to worry

About lung damage

That boat has already sailed

He has the rattle to prove it

The dog will outlast him

They left home together

On a whim

Too many years ago

To remember

There is no going back now

Not together

Perhaps he can tie him

To the fence outside the hostel

Somebody will take him in

He can howl in tune

To a mouth organ

Worth his weight in dog food

Worth more than me

He whispered

At least that is what I heard

Drifting up

Through the soft night air

Carried on the smoke

He made a joke

Gallows humour

About what

Developed first

Fanciful thinking

Or the tumour

From too much drinking

Barley wine

And then I drifted

Off to sleep

His battered voice

Following me

It was better than

Counting sheep.