mary

he stumbles out the door
in his bathrobe.
bleary eyed
and wet
from a shower.
toothbrush in hand.
he calls out for mary,
the love
of his life.
i'm coming he says
in traffic,
the patrol man
waving him down.
he sees what isn't there,
hears what isn't said.
there was a time
when his black hair
was parted on the side.
a smart suit
adorned him.
Italian shoes. a brief
case of ideas
in his hand,
but now, this. this
is where we end
up.
not from sin, or wrong
turns,
not from anything deserved.
it's just the way
it is,
we're born then returned.