His Name, Lonely
by Odin Roark

Light pirouettes off the rain-streaked window
Reflecting remembrance,
The lasting vigil for learning
Recalling ’56 the beginning.
Starting oh so many beginnings.

New York…
Complexity’s perpetual fraternity of strangers.
Eyes collected from teeming masses,
Studying him studying them,
The urban nomad’s hard-times university.

Ancient days of no-window hotels,
Stepping outside became his take-away,
Light’s sunrise became breakfast,
High noon’s rays his lunch,
Sun’s late day disappearance,
His banquet.

Loving sun,
Using daily retirement
To prepare for next morning’s greeting.
His friend.
One of nature’s guiding illuminati.

Soon,
Tempered hunger
Became friend also,
Along with windowed-shelter.

Crowded sidewalks continued,
Revealing more mysteries of growing up.
Sidewalk-professors of tenure
Dangled wisdom like ageless carrots-on-a-stick.

If only there was that someone to hold,
To have by his side…
But such never showed up.

That’s when he met Lonely.
They became inseparable,
The sun ever lighting the way.

As they explored book stores,
Lonely introduced him to worlds vested on paper.
They sat on the floors reading back-cover promises,
Friendly authors offering imagination he could hold,
Could have with him wherever he was.

Used illusions and fantasies for twenty-five cents.
Brand new dreams for fifty-cents.

Days drifted into weeks,
Months,
Years,
His friends staying by his side…
Even now,
After so long,
Loyalty never waned.

And…

There continues to be
His room with one window,
His “bulky-junk-day” Lazy Boy rocker,
Ever ready to transport him
To a summerhouse at the shore,
Ski lodge in the mountains,
Anywhere his books’ reality opts he go.

Giving daily thanks…

He remains grateful to be alive,
Reading ever better dreams,
Smiling through downer-days,
Knowing he’s still got
The sun,
Food,
Shelter,
And mostly,
His oldest friend, Lonely
To keep him company.