This Old Stoop

I watched him being born, hours old, on this stoop
Unto gray concrete and nothing but a name he could give himself
The bluest eyes you ever did see and lips crying for love’s touch
Swathed in an old dishrag, waiting on a bell’s return

I watched him rip his baby knees open on this stoop
Playing hopscotch with his best friend no one could see
Talking in baby circles and charming old women as they passed
Blue eyes swelling their old hearts as they ruffled his hair

I watched him fall breathless countless nights upon this stoop
Run ragged from his work no one dared ever question
Taking a swig of liquor and a puff of smoke before ascending his steps
Telling his secrets to quiet walls as everyone slept beside him

I watched him collect her heart and broken eggs on this stoop
In that three-piece he worked so hard for, and tomorrow’s, too
She smiled as she saw him, just good enough for a woman like her
Or maybe her smile for the billfold protruding from his otherwise empty pocket

I saw a giant Tiffany’s ring gain a purpose on this stoop
As her tears hit the concrete before she gave an excited cry to agree
And he took that beautiful girl in his arms for patient kisses
The first of many this old archway would bear witness to

I watched his favorite three-piece suit die on this stoop
Collecting years of dust and old eggs as he curled up, crying
Penniless, wifeless, and homeless, back to my stoop
Showing me those blue eyes as they broke into tiny pieces

I saw him look for love in all the wrong ways on this stoop
Grabbing the asses of passersby, yelling obscenities
Dissatisfied with even those who didn’t seem to mind the touch
Beating his head on green walls as he drinks it all away

I watched my love die one night upon this old stoop
He blew his forty-one year old brains out in the night
Painting his loving walls and splattering his empty bottles
So lovely and broken in his favorite three-piece suit

I watched them paint his stoop a sea foam green
You can still see crimson if you look hard enough
With a golden “41” placed delicately above the door
Welcoming another beautiful tragedy into it’s open arms