When I Sat On The Steps

when i sat on the steps
i could hear the television
coming from
the neighbor’s windows
after midnight(mr
oldman asleep
in his armchair,stained
white t
-shirt and boxers,
scotch glass
on the end table)
maybe he was there
because mrs oldwoman
had a new life
with mr newman.
maybe he was there
because all
he had left of his son
after the war
was the framed
picture and medal
he showed me
a thousand times
(that’s my son
with his uniform on.
you didn’t know him,
but you’d like him.
you know,i
maybe he was just there
because he had
nowhere else
to be.
but,i promised myself
that i would
never be there.
not like that(never
let myself be
so clothed in
so dirty white,
so sleepy drunk.
never let someone
i love be put
in a frame.
never telling
the same stories
to neighbor children
about the past.
i’d never be
caught like that,
asleep in static.
most of all,
i’d never let
another person
see me
so clearly
through my own windows)