Tony Gloeggler: New House

Lying on this too short, too thin

couch in Jesse’s new house, trying 

to find a few more minutes of sleep 

before Jesse, my  morning alarm, 

emerges from his bedroom to start 

our day. It’s a renovated duplex. 

His mom lives in the other half, 

separate entrances to support 

his independence, but nearby 

for emergencies. More important, 

a place of his own when she dies, 

a place his caretaker would live. 

Twenty years ago, his mom and me 

were in love and they were moving 

to Brooklyn. These days, we email 

about my monthly visits. Sometimes, 

she attaches a photo or two of him 

walking down super market aisles, 

rolling dough, sprinkling cheese 

for home made pizza, at a ski lodge 

riding the gondola, smiling into space.

Outside, his mom and her roommate, 

lover, or partner-I can’t tell, won’t 

ask-are placing planters on the porch, 

sifting through dirt and seeds. I try 

not to think of all the time I spent 

going over what went wrong 

between us, how badly I missed 

who I wanted her to be, the idea 

of a life I thought we were building. 

.

This weekend, I’ve felt uneasy

around her, my words sounding 

clumsy and slow as she showed me 

where everything goes, what doors 

to keep locked. She wrote down 

directions to the bus, places to eat 

in walking distance-here she raised 

her eyes-if I could convince Jess

to try some place different. Not 

once did I want to say something 

to make her laugh, ask about her life, 

touch her arm, brush her hair 

away from her eyes, tell her anything

about my life. Not for a minute 

did I want to be that guy, Peter, 

on the porch, up early, spending 

this perfect Spring weekend doing 

chores, hardly talking, like old 

married people. I was happy waiting 

for Jesse to hover over me, tell me 

Tony get up, 8 o’clock, ask him

are you sure it’s 8, while he extends

his hand, helps me up, says paper. 

I’m happy walking to the table, 

helping him fill out the day’s schedule, 

content to spend Saturday doing 

whatever he wants. Very happy

to take a cab to the airport Sunday

morning, go home and live alone.

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Copyright 2023 Tony Gloeggler

Tony Gloeggler’s books include What Kind of Man (NYQ Books, 2020). He is a life-long resident of New York City.