LEAN-TO LENNY


When I pass by,

Up Union Hill,

I know he’s inside,

Peering,

Peeking,

Silently Still,

Wondering whom am I.

I wave.

He never shows himself,

Just a shadow,

Of a guy,

But when I return.

He has left me a token,

On the post.

Somewhat of a ghost.

Lonely?

Maybe?

Alone man.

A lone house stands.

It’s our way of,

Staying in touch,

And saying,

“Hi!”

As I pass by.


Last week,

No token I spied.

The old man,

Died.


I cried.

For I had lost a friend.

In need,

In deed,

Indeed.



Author’s Note: Who was the old man?

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