SoC 3:1

Crazy Old Jack

56 today,

& Jack died

in his room years ago.

He still sits there I swear

watches T.V.

Philosopher of sports,

entrepreneur of sleep,

dream weaver of single men and their dreams.

Jack never leaves his room,

seldom shuts his T.V. off.

Jack seldom gets out of bed, boils on this naked body—

no need for razors, baths, for this man.

Jack takes pills, then herbs, then vitamins—

but he is incurable.

Jack died in a room years ago—

he eats toast & jam,

toast without jam,

fingers wipes butter from a dish.

I hear Jack yawning from

his room, his coffin again.

Sleepy old Jack coughing again,

quiet old room—

just below a beauty salon—

56 today & Jack died here.

Crazy old Jack.