Man in Market Town
It is a big door shiny white and wide, isn't
used much, twice a day when he goes out
shopping and when returning; if anyone
rings the door bell it is usually the gas man.
There are times when he opens the door at
night going to a bar or to buy love bought
and consumed in cheap hotel rooms; a need
that leaves him ashamed and gloomy.
There is a knock on the door of memories, he
gets up look out of the window, it's a brilliant
day and he hears eager steps on pavements,
like someone dancing Argentinean tango.
To be old in November is not so bad, he tells
himself, he can be in and play Elvis's old vinyl
records on his gramophone, but to be seventy
a day in May, man, that makes the soul cry.
oskar hansen
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-for-some/
