My Strange Old Man

I first see him

while taking out the trash

I’m sweaty in the summer heat

roaring wheels against pavement are overwhelming

grating against my senses

And yet, when I see him

I can bear it

Through the window I get a glimpse

An old man with a long face

lying in his bed

cozy, yet clearly a hospital bed

It hits me then, the irony–

Children laughing and playing

in the same building as the elderly

shrivel, wilt, and die

I look for the old man now

Every time I pass by the window

Some days he is there,

a ghost underneath the bed sheets.

Other days the only signal he is alive

is the John Deere hat hung on the bed frame

I sigh in relief knowing that my strange old man is alive

Not well, not to be in a nursing home

but alive, breathing

Months pass and I haven’t seen the old man

Not in bed

Nor his hat hung up

I start to worry for the old man

Frantically checking the local obituaries

For any sign of him

And I see him

A younger version of his long face

Stares back at me through the screen

I know his name now

My strange old man, after

“Death welcomed him

Peacefully in his sleep.”

I still look in through the window

As I roll by with the trash

A woman has taken his place–

My strange old lady