Mr. Henry

Our neighbor was an older man

who sat next to his balcony door everyday.

He was fragile in the legs,

but strong in voice. 

If you passed by and he knew you,

He would holler down for you to grab something

out of his truck, for his body wasn't strong enough

to make things convenient. 

Once, there was a loud thud

on the other side of our wall.

Seeing that he contracted COVID

and was now recovering,

hearing something hit the ground

in an eighty-something-year-old's domain

makes you assume nothing shy of a body

expiring in real time. 

I rushed over, knocking on his door.

He asked me to come in

by which I saw him attempting to place

a small fridge on his kitchen counter.

Lifting it up, it was evident

that men, no matter the age,

still try to carry everything in life

with the arms of their pride. 

My wife and I would proceed

to run into him between grocery store visits

and returning home from work.

We never saw family or friends visit,

just a hospice nurse paid

to help him deal with not being young ever again.

His gratitude for my assistance

consisted of crates filled with old movies

and two good watches, 

one with a broken band. 

Our small talk created holes in his living room

we had the opportunity to fill with questions

and answers about where we came from

and where we were headed.

Instead, we used those moments

to be nice, to only say

what was expected between a man in his thirties

and one who was down to his last tank 

of clean oxygen next to the television stand.

We met each other in the middle of growing up,

out, and old. 

He passed away from a heart attack

after being moved to the first floor of our building.

Family came by to collect his furniture and belongings.

I bought a new band for his watch--the rubber type

that is kind to your wrist, no matter the notch one chooses.

It fell off during an evening shift

and again a few minutes afterwards.

Maybe it's not meant for me to wear,

but to hold, remembering that time is selfish

and so are people,

but we don't have to be.

We can stop by once and a while,

check and see if our hearts still beat

out inner songs our blood dances to

when we feel someone caring, someone wanting

to be present. 

We didn't talk much

but we did in the pockets

between passing through

and away.