Nobody's Home Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I sojourned
By the pavements and
I saw a three-story house
At the middle of the
Ornate landscape

And I knocked and
He welcomed me with a
Cigarette spew
And I told him,
"Care for a slug? "

And he let me in
And he told me things
About how the moon
Is jaded in one
Of the streams
And sometimes
He sees the Sun
In one of his dreams
But that is a rare case.

As the days hovered
Over the streets,
I saw him there
By the pavements yet again
But this time
He was sitting by the curb -
It was like seeing
One of the sun's rays
Trapped in the eyes of
A dead crow.

He breathes a nonchalant
Spite of the streets
And his sanctimonious grin
Was stifling.
It was a rough day
And not a day to invite
Him for a drink
Or a cheap thrill even;

He saw me,
And I saw him
And I said, "What are you
Doing there by the curb
When we could frequent
A tavern? "
He scoffed like the day burned
Into one of his dreams of arson.
And he smiled wryly.

Again, another bar-brawl madness
Passed by and the moon
Was still trapped inside one
Of the streams he said
And maybe in one of his dreams,
The Sun fled
And I saw his acrimony,
His agony - a whole farce of
Lamentation and I could only
Breathe and not say anything.

It was yet another
Sun burnt day at the pavements
And I passed by his home
Yet again, and I can see
Circling shrouds of smoke
From behind the gate and I knew
He was careening to the metal bars.
I knocked and said,
"Hey. It's me. Care for a drink
Or two? The devil is asleep
And the gods are drunk."
I told him
And he opened the door
As if flabbergasted
His face pale,
Eyes dead silent
Almost feigning salience

And by that
I shivered inside my bones
I guess
Nobody's home.