A Reader of Poems
came to visit today
A reader of these poems
came to visit today.
Carla went to the wrong house
across the street and I hope
she returns. And you do too.
Here’s the poem I wrote about
the man who lived in the wrong house
where Carla went.
(It’s from ALL OF US)
Ken lives across the street
old style pre hip hop
you’re in the navy now tattoo
chain smoker one cigarette
behind his right ear
I never liked him much
until this summer.
Ken drove a truck for 41 years
a very big truck
he didn’t like it when people
asked if he was a trucker
he couldn’t say why not.
His wife Hilda died in May.
He held her hand
and said goodbye.
Now something of Hilda
lives in Ken and when he
comes over every single afternoon
he says he’s coming
for free coffee and cookies
even though he didn’t come
across the road for 14 years
he walks over now as though
he always has and it’s ok with me
because I see Hilda inside Ken
and when he tells me over and over
again his one long
story about his baking truck
and Brooklyn I can see Hilda
and she’s smiling.
What a lovely poem, Esther.
I'll be thinking of him and Hilda. Thank you for being the kind of person who has a stranger over for lemonade and salted almonds. It was all perfect.