the doorman

the doorman
who has been there forever
in his red suit,
is crying. someone has died.
the ambulance just left
with the siren off,
the lights swirling
softly in the rain.
someone
he knew.
but he knows everyone.
you wonder
if he'll cry
for you
when the time comes.
for Christmas this year
you'll get him
something nice,
maybe a silk scarf or
a pair of leather gloves
from
Madison avenue,
perhaps then.