Gentleman in the White Coat

I think he came here

to die, I don’t know, 

he won’t talk to me directly

he has been coming around for four or five weeks

not schizophrenic like the others, not wild

he has remnants of decent behavior

but his dress, once elegant and of fine pattern and cut

hangs loose and frayed soiled beyond daily cleanings

tells a story of hard life

scares his eyes, surely bright at one time

hazy and red rimmed with scar tissue

slow to move, to focus

he does eat when its time

and clearly once regal

stares the younger ones away until he is finished

but he eats little

before his morning nap

or afternoon stroll around the pond

he likes to be acknowledged

with a friendly pat on the shoulder

or smoothing of his long hair

he had a home once, his habits display,

but perhaps steady and calm wasn't for him, to confining 

and he preferred the chase of the wild

he has taken to sleeping outside my window

perhaps he feels the need for human companionship, through the glass
or does not want to be alone, in this chapter