No one knocks on their own door to enter except for me.
I feel like a visitor in my own apartment
knowing that I could be in the room where I die.
Three raps before I turn the key to
announce my presence
to the ‘Shogun’ of 151.
I live alone but the man who
used to live here hasn’t left.
He rests on the cubby where I put my Converse
waiting for someone to show and he
constantly reminds me that he is the master of this residence.
I did the best thing I could do for him; I gave him a name.
I call him Bruce Leroy
because he’s reached the final stage; he has the glow.
Even now I’m not able to
commune with the dead but he feels so close it’s
like he glued his soul to me.
Doing maintenance in the hall, he fell.
Wife divorced, daughter living in Texas.
No one to call family…
no one to call for help.
No one would hear.
Who knew such a tiny mistake could erase an entire life?
On the linoleum dying,
for three days
crying for help…to no one but himself.
Turning into nothing but a dead man
and an ambiguous 80s reference.
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