The story of his life

is the story of mine.

                -Anne Sexton “The Legend of the One-Eyed Man”

He lives the here and there

of a travel job, making acquaintances

forgotten past Tuesday,

collecting matchbooks

with stranger numbers

than his own.  His colors

ring metal, sob silver, dull

brown, same sailboats nailed

to the wall.  They do all

look alike, he muses and fancies

himself a doctor who has

shelved his bedside manner

with last night’s litter.

There are evenings

he just goes to sleep.