Careful is a Sixth Sense

INTRO

To live alone is to develop a second nervous system — one that scans the floor before stepping, feels walls before leaning, listens for every sound that does not belong.

By Vincent R. Pozon

Careful is in the soul and fingers
of the man alone, keener than sight,
hand hovers before touching anything:

"Is this damp, slippery?"

Careful is that sense that magnifies
the others, watching the ground ahead
of footfalls, motion moderated,

avoiding the brisk and the risk,
he has the blind man's radar, the strands
of hair on his arm feel what is near

"the towel rack is not a safety bar."

The man alone is rubber-soled
in the bathroom, both palms on the walls
before reveling in the rain of the bath.

At night, his ear cocks at the sound
of every can kicked outside, like the dog's
to a cat stealthy on the roof.

A man alone lives outside of earshot
of care and anyone who might
wonder why he is late for breakfast,

outside of earshot of worry
when he tarries in the toilet,
no one hears the grumble of hunger,

He must lock the house up before
he brings out the vodka and ice,
Careful is a sense of the man alone.