The Woman Next Door Poem by RIC BASTASA

this woman is beginning
to grow white hair

her hands are rough and the skin there
are loosing from the
fingers like
hand gloves made of
cloth

she has to wear sunglasses
even during the rainy seasons when the skies are gray
when the world is too cold
and the parks are
empty
where she finds herself alone
strolling under those
old trees

she is losing touch
of other people who seems not to see her
her presence disregarded

to hide her disappointments
she goes to the mall and buys things that she does not like
a matter of compulsion-obsession
pulling and pushing her from one corner
to another

quite a pity
she feels miserable and people avoid miserable people
they think
that misery is contagious
and who wants misery?

i am intimately involved with this woman
more in the line of pity
more on the aspect of empathy

there are many things that i must tell her
but it will not be for now

scattered atoms inside a glass of muddy water
need a little settling before one must describe to her
what really happened and what to do next

who knows? perhaps i really love her.