East Irving Street.

On East Irving Street
He lived in an attic.
A beige chair by the window
A brown bed by the door.
On East Irving Street
He paced on the hardwood
With his hands in his pockets,
And his feet on the floor.

In the chair by the window
His elbow on the sill
He watched the commotion,
From atop his perch.
In the chair by the window
Hands still and eyes scanning
He watched the old bus stop
Between the cafe and church.

A couple dressed like stoplights
Moved like his imagination
Through a red and green world,
Wearing that same red and green.
A couple dressed like stoplights
They sparkled like Christmas
In a hardware store dore
In childhood's loveliest dream.

A bright young man
Wore a pinstripe sportscoat,
As sharp as anyone could be
With his shirt buttoned down.
A bright young man
He saw his ride coming.
He caught the bus with a leash,
And followed it down town.

That dull beige man
Watched the bus as it left
Watched the taxis and towncars
As the sun stopped the show.
That dull beige man
Left the chair by the window
When the night emptied the sidewalks
And the spectacle below.

On East Irving Street
He lived in an attic.
A beige chair by the window
A brown bed by the door.
On East Irving Street
He paced on the hardwood
With his hands in his pockets
And his feet on the floor.