Curtains drawn
Except one window,
Five stories up.
Silhouetted in it
A man, hands in pockets.
The hotel room behind
Exposed by the light.
Watching cars below
On the overpass.
Post-midnight traffic
Rushing home to roost.
Contemplating his past
Or his future, perhaps
His children, or
Missing his wife.
I’m tempted to toot my horn
Or flash my lights
But he’s gone…passed by
Now, only a memory.
Phil Breidenbach
