Man On A Balcony In His Bathrobe

Watering his pansies in their pots with his ridiculous

watering can. Sticking his finger in the soil to

test the dampness. Obviously nothing on beneath

the silk robe. It's almost fallen loose a dozen times

Balding. Maybe in his late forties. Somewhat of a

pot belly. Pale skin from not getting any

sun. Moving back and forth along a narrow balcony

on the sixth floor in Paris, in the Marais district

His life's either almost over, or just begun

I'm going to go out on a limb and say

he's entirely satisfied. Philosophy's

done. No rushing off to absurdist work

All he needs is to water his pansies in their

endless pots along the balcony. Time

means less to him than the moonlight

melting in the rising sun