The Winter Man
Late at night, a stranger bangs on my door.
I tell him to go away. I tell him
I called the police. I tell him
I have a gun. He tells me
he’s not afraid. I tell him
I’m not afraid either. He tells me
paramedics will use a cloud as a stretcher
to carry his body to heaven.
I don’t believe him. I tell him
the wind broke my heart.
I’m holding it together with an old sock.
I want to return to my crossword puzzle.
I want to see if rapture is the seven-letter word for ecstasy.
I peer through the curtains and see
him, snow pecking at his eyes like a vulture.
RICK BURSKY’s most recent book is Let’s Become a Ghost Story, BOA Editions. He teaches poetry for The Writer’s Program at UCLA Extension.