Assisted Living ( A true story )

[saw]

I am captivated by his gawky ballet,
his daily trek past my house,
the nutty professor ? uncanny likeness
to Jerry Lewis, the out of control limbs
the thick black glasses, the buck teeth
or perhaps it's Elvis Costello
with a meandering jaw that has a life
of its own with a mess of unkept hair

he always carries a small radio
that never makes a sound as he struggles
with imaginary barriers that prevent him
from beelining to the Safeway store
stopping suddenly dead in his tracks
swinging in a wide arc around the obstructions
I cannot see, taking giant steps at times
baby steps at other times in order
to avoid stepping in the wrong places

he negotiates his own personal mine field
with a quirky grace, a spastic elegance.
sometimes he asks me for a cigarette
when I'm outside raking leaves, sometimes
he asks for a light, we have repeated
this exchange like a scene from
Groundhog's Day, hundreds of times

it's our little co-dependent way of saying Hello,
his response to my apology for not possessing
the desired items is precisely the same each time
" You don't smoke, do you ?"
we both know our parts quite well by now
and I don't mind, I find it comforting in some odd way

he is often animated, agitated, conversing loudly
with an invisible partner, cussing him out
or maybe he is blasting someone that gave him this life
or perhaps the god that would allow this to happen
I don't know

last week when we spoke, he said to me
quite seriously, "They think my friend in Spring Grove
is crazy, but when I flip a cigarette just like this
it will turn over in the air exactly three times
and always land in my friends mouth !!
Every single time !!
Every time !!
Is that crazy ? !!"