This Man

A social creature isolated with hi-def pornography
and Ramen noodles. Carnal needs satisfied
with single servings wrapped in plastic.
He forgets why he should ever leave his apartment—
a studio bedroom cave above downtown—
and is forgotten (except by credit cards
and jury duty notices).

Layer after layer of masking tape
and curtain, the red and blue neon
still creeps in. Live Nudes. Cheap Beer.
Life—or some version of it.

His Ramen runs out—a reason to leave.
Passing bars, theaters, bookstores, other creatures
hiding together from showers of thick snowflakes.
A woman chats in German on her phone.
She looks him in the eyes. He loves
and hates her in that instant.
Even through her coat and scarf
he can tell she is nicely dressed.
Maybe for a date, candlelit and warm
by a window facing a white, bare tree.

He walks too far, following footsteps
made minutes ago. The park is 7 blocks from the grocery
but he decides to stay and sit with the sleeping landscape.
Thinking, when? Like the trees.