A Poem for the Old Man Without a Name

 
I’d get home late
every night
and all the lights
were off in his
building except
his
I’d look at his 
window as I 
walked up the
fire stairs to get
to my apartment
his building was
next to mine
I was always tired
from work
I’d watch him
sitting on the edge
of his bed with a
whiskey glass in 
his hand watching
television
looking like he didn’t
have a worry in the 
world 
like every single second 
meant something 
special 
every night I came 
home from work
he’d be there
with the light on
in the exact same
position
it was as if he were
waiting for me
to restore some hope
to things
after another completely
wasted day
though for the past 
week the blinds have
been closed
and light turned off
today the blinds were
open
all the furniture
was gone
and tools sat in the 
spot he used to sit
he is gone
no one thinks of
him anymore
no one cares
I care
he was my light:
I miss that light.