It was 1p.m.
When the sun came up
when the sun came out of the sky
It was 1p.m.
When the world was shaking
when the world was breathing and talking and moving and
happening
The walls in his living room were sad
He must have fallen asleep on the couch again
Listening to the neighbor's Vinyl Player from the other room
He looked at his watch
He looked at the window that was on the wall
He saw the sun
streets
the world
He said aloud to himself
and to the sagging furniture in his living room
“The world is a big place, and it fits in my window.”
He smiled
Then looked at the couch and noticed it didn't smile back
So he got up
Looked into his mirror and decided the half-grown beard looked okay
and that his hair was decent
and that the oil on his face
gave him color
He pulled out his ironing board
found the Iron underneath the kitchen sink
And began ironing his blue button up shirt
Making sure the sleeves were straight
Making sure the color was crisp
He kept on ironing
Then he imagined what his funeral would be like
“What would they say?”
He imagined a hairless priest towering over his coffin
“He was a good man, a quiet man, He was loved, not only by God, but by his family, his mother, his brother.”
His blue button up shirt was ironed
It was now 1:30p.m.
He looked at the oven's clock
The clock on the oven must have been wrong for years
Even when the apartment complex was forged by the poor for the poor
The oven's clock said “8:21a.m.”
He was not sure why he ever checked the time on the oven
But he always did
He then put brown socks on his feet
Pants that were a faded Tan
Like an old photo of sand
Then his shoes
Tied them
Put on his Button Up Shirt
buttoned the buttons
And walked out the front door.