Beyond the End

He is shamelessly happy
to take out the trash.
He descends the spiral staircase
and follows the stone path
laid out to the can.
Well, no longer a can-
more like giant Tupperware
with wheels. Late October,
winter on the way.

He has a smoke in the alley.
The neighborhood is dying-
everyone is moving closer
to downtown, closer
to the ache of the city.
He doesn't mind-
popularity is unusable.

This row of Victorians
used to be elegant, similar
to the photograph of an actress
long dead, or almost there.
Only a matter of time before
the block is bought up
and leveled for something
monstrous and profitable.

We must be brave when everything
is taken away. He exhales
and looks up to where
the moon should be, but is not.
His beard is more white
than gray, his eyes
more closed than open.