The Neighbor

The old man chopped off
the heads of his flowers
and sanded his teeth
as was customary each morning,
then locked his lock twice
before passing me.

He smelled
of ham and homefries.

Once again
he passed back
as I turned around
to retrieve something I’d forgotten.

Perhaps
he’d forgotten something too.

Perhaps we’d
forgotten the same something. Perhaps
this man was my roommate.
Perhaps he had forgotten me.
Perhaps he was my father,
my father beheading marigolds
or tulips or queen anne’s lace
under the windows,
forgetting something
because he is dead
now, and the dead
don’t have memories.

Anyhow, the door came open
for the second time and as I stood there
he actually seemed surprised to have it come open like that,
as he made a little gesture with
his beautiful old face.