he walked out of the library
into the frosty
december
night,
buttoning his faded gray, wool jacket.
he shoved his gloveless hands into his pockets
and began the eight block walk
back to his apartment.
when he arrived he took our his hands
blew on them
rubbed them together,
to regain feeling in them.
he fumbled for his key,
dropped it
two times,
and finally unlocked the door to his flat.
even when he flipped on the lights
it was dark
and cold;
he didn't pay the bill this month.
he checked his answering machine...
no messages.
~me
