Arts & Poetry, Other

The Celebrity Next Door

Never seem to see him out and about…he keeps himself to himself.
Bit of a mystery – this man of seemingly great wealth.
An occasional shadow at the window is all that he is
to curious passers-by and other visitors, eager to pry.
A long driveway, a couple of vintage cars,
A treble garage, and ivy clad walls,
Doesn’t seem to get too many house calls.

Caught a glimpse of a delivery man the other day from afar
Drove up to the large gated entrance – stepped out from a branded car
Spoke into a speaker at the side of the road
The gates opened slowly
‘Come on in – add to my heavy load.’

Met old Gracie in the greengrocers the other day.
Never spoke much, but she always had something to say.
She had eyes that observed and ears that listened.
She bought some apples….told me it had been her birthday
"Not many cards through the door, though," she said, as she turned to pay.

I asked her about the mystery man next door to me
She paused and reflected...Gracie hears about what others can't see.
Not much Gracie doesn’t know, I she collected her change.
“He’s a recluse with a story to tell.
No one knows him,” she said “and just as well.”
I took her bag and helped her out of the store
An apple fell to the ground, distracting us, but I wanted to know more.
Who was he and how long had he been living here?
Not much would impact Gracie over the years, but I detected a tear.
She stared at my inquisitive eyes, put her purse away and then her face
drew near.
Softly, she said, “Life has a way of stopping the calls
And the more calls you’ve had, the harder the fall.
Think adulation and stardust and your name in lights
Think fame and fortune and so much more
But when it’s done, loneliness lurks at the door.”
I walked Gracie up to her old wooden gate
It had only taken a couple of minutes to hear of one man’s fate.
A man who’d lived a lifetime of worldly success,
Now faced with a future….loneliness.
Living with your past is never enough...
Silence is golden but isolation is tough.
What brought him to this place, to memory lane?
He lifts a glass to his lips, takes a long, slow sip of whiskey.
It’s a journey from hand to mouth he has done many times before.
No one is watching…but Gracie is seeing.
She understands his pain.

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