A Man Unbothered
by Dan Senn


He lived on the 7th floor
behind super locks
caged windows
oh-paque shades
and curtains knitted tightly.

With faulty plumbing
surging power
broken elevators
puking stairwells
and leaks from above.

With church mice (on either side)
poisons and roach hotels
gun shots from below
a cat named Lillian
and a curfew.

A bike by the door
his lightning
as he shot through
target practice
on the scrubby terrace down below.

The children gone
the stores
small talk and clutches
daydreams
and caned grandmas.

But he was disciplined.
Had the internet.
Rent was low.
Was lucky in escape
and with ears stuffed, he could produce.

Really
it was
all
quite
good.

Then, one day
after a bath
in the purest of water
with a touch of whim
things shifted.

Cotton from his ears
a neighbor roused
the toilet filled
an elevator creaked
a baby cried outside his door.

In only weeks
his locks removed
hike bike below
his curfew over
the sun bleached his favorite photo.

Stores opened
a man busked in B-flat
fat people argued
children triked
grandpas spread out like lemmings.

The shooting o're
weeds clipped and nipped
a house scrubbed
forgetting himself
he ventured into the night.

———
Written in Prague around April 7, 2009.
Rediscovered February 12, 2023.

DS 021223
©Dan Senn 2023

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