Larsen

He was an old man who
Painted closets in his spare time and
Read Jack London in the afternoon....

Dreaming one frightful brisk morning
Asleep later, being retired
Remembering his long severed sons....
The disconnected repartee
Of rich, rather odd philosophy
On cold winter days
With nothing to do
But paint closets
All the time

teflon

I knew someone like this, except he did crossword puzzles and rewired the house. Saturday morning breakfasts at a diner, all alone. He knew how to be comfortably on his own.

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