Gentleman in the White Coat

I think he came here
to die, I don’t know, 
he won’t talk to me directly

he has been coming around for four or five weeks
not schizophrenic like the others, not wild
he has remnants of decent behavior
but his dress, once elegant and of fine pattern and cut
hangs loose and frayed soiled beyond daily cleanings
tells a story of hard life
scares his eyes, surely bright at one time
hazy and red rimmed with scar tissue
slow to move, to focus
he does eat when its time
and clearly once regal
stares the younger ones away until he is finished
but he eats little
before his morning nap
or afternoon stroll around the pond
he likes to be acknowledged
with a friendly pat on the shoulder
or smoothing of his long hair

he had a home once, his habits display,
but perhaps steady and calm wasn’t for him, to confining 
and he preferred the chase of the wild
he has taken to sleeping outside my window
perhaps he feels the need for human companionship, through the glass
or does not want to be alone, in this chapter 

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