What Comes Next

Richard Musto

A crotchety World War II vet

With bandy legs and swollen feet
Hangs out downstairs

On my neighbors’ stoop

Coffee pots and trinkets

Spread out on display

Engaged in his unique

Form of commerce

By harassment

Pity and shtick

What more can

I do or say

Now so clearly I hear

My upstairs neighbor’s

Sage advice –

Don’t get involved

You have no idea

And it’s absolutely true

After almost a year

That I’ve known Richard

Taken a dozen road trips 

To Atlantic City on his behalf 

To the office of Veterans Affairs

And county welfare

Late night excursions

To the Emergency Room

This 87-year-old homeless man

Now comes to roost
On my doorstep

This morning

He cursed at me –

Why did you have

To get involved

I never asked for

Your help

And that too is

Absolutely true

I meddled here

At my own initiative

And what Colin Powell

Once said in reference to Iraq

May very well be true

Of men's hearts and minds

You break it

You own it

And by this logic

Since I helped

Break Richard

Of his lifelong habit

Of stubborn self-reliance

Paying for his room and board

Through the winter just passed

Today he sits downstairs

With his unpacked wares

Inescapably my problem

There are no agencies to call

No social workers to help  

Money itself is of little

Or no avail

I can write

Poetry or prose

All day long

And it won’t

Change a single thing

What comes next?

Honestly

I haven’t the slightest idea

It’s an all too human condition

Beyond treatment

Or even palliative care

Other than a sandwich

And another cup of coffee

And wherever Richard may be

When I next go downstairs

The soreness still lingers

Like an abscess

On the heart