I walk old and gaunt
Floating ghostlike down old haunts
Martinelli
And Washington
And East Lake
I return
Far flung from a prodigal son.

Empty streets reflected in empty eyes
Power lines buzz in futile rebellion
To the silent black night.
I pull my jacket tight.

Stop at the Villager
In search of an old friend.
Security shakes me down
“Do you have a pocketknife?”
I laugh.
Look in at the eager faces.
They hail the old demon
I ran down in futile chases.
See Charlie and Sarge.
They’ve forgotten who I am
And shouldn’t remember
Anyway.

Turn back to the dark,
To the dim streetlights
Glowing exhausted and pale
Like me.
Light up,
And fill my lungs
With deathly relief.
Traffic lights mist
In cold colors
Where shadowed roads meet.

Something here died.
Something close,
Something warm.
I walk on,
Old and gaunt,
Floating ghostlike down old haunts.