My little penthouse has a little porch
And just across the narrow quiet street,
There’s another little penthouse that has a little porch
That just so happens to be facing mine.
And on that little porch across mine,
There’s an old hunched man who sits in his old wicker chair
Trying to light a cigarette with shaking withered fingers
Every morning without fail.
The cigarette between his teeth would quiver
Beneath his gray overgrown mustache
Until he’d get frustrated enough to curse
And the cigarette would fall.
Every morning without fail.
He’d then get up from his old wicker chair,
Disappear for just a minute with a different lighter,
Reach into his brown pocket for a new cigarette
And try to light it again.
Every morning, I’d watch the old man try to light his cigarette
Before I’d go to work and after five minutes I’d have to leave.
And every morning without fail as I’d close the door of my little penthouse shut,
I’d wonder how long it took the little old man in his wicker chair
To light his cigarette.
About the Creator
T. Licht
I have a love for words and a love to share them.
Enjoy! and thank you for taking the time to read this and maybe if you want subscribe and buy my new poetry book Whispers at Twilight
Comments (5)
We're so busy trying to succeed in life that we sometimes fail to notice those who are lonely or trying to get a simple thing done. Lovely vignette, my friend.
Nice job!
A small vignette that speaks volumes about life and loneliness.
Very nice, very detailed and elegant description, love your poems, thank you for sharing!
Such a little piece of life you captured here!