those old men

you know those old men
the ones that sit in a chair
on their front stoop
all day long
watching the world go by?
ive always felt
identified
not knowing why
but i knew i could sit there
on a stoop
all day long
and watch the world go by.
in some way
i felt that i had
or was
already.
because i sit in a chair
outside a door
to a little brick building
all day long.
sometimes i stand and face the door
as if to go in,
a couple of times
i had my hand on the knob,
but most of the time
i keep my back to it.
i know whats inside.
she thinks that i dont.
but i know,
ive always known.
it is hard to stand so close to something
even with a door between
and not know whats there.
knowing was never the problem.
i think that once inside,
im not sure how to get out.
thats the problem.
i never go in, without knowing
the out.
its a rule.
and yet somehow,
though never going in,
i have never walked away.


i stand now
facing the door.
its been a while
since i really noticed the aging of the door,
the cracks in the paint,
the faded sign slightly askew.
i have an overnight bag.
i suppose i intend to stay.
but i do not knock.
i would knock
but there is a drink in my hand.