The English Gentleman

The old English gentleman

is dying, on a comfortable cushion

he choose earlier in the day

to lay out in the sun

after eating a noon time meal

without gorging eating little and slowly

Then with eyes mostly closed

clambered up the woven chair to the table

then crawled on the cushion

to the spot warmed by the sun

and I went out to see him

and his eyes were closed

his breathing was regular but shallow

he turned towards me,

or the sound of my voice

and raised his head,

his blue/grey coat scruffy

unkempt, ungroomed

He has been coming around for a few weeks

eating at the community table

and finding a place to sleep on some blankets

put out for cold old men in this winter

he got along well enough

with the other visitors

sitting at this desk looking out on the porch

at the level of the cushioned the table

I hear a small restrained cry

and a long exhale

hesitating at first, I go outside to see him

as his breathing stops the cushion begins to cool