Mr. Hernandez
Mr. Hernandez, across the hall
In number 12, was 84 — a former
electrician — just the other day he told me
Not to hesitate to knock if
We should need any help with the wiring
He was having some trouble remembering
And though the winter left him frail
I figured I might ask him still, until last night
When the medics arrived
And carried him out, on a board
Down four flights, and into the bus —
as his daughter, on the steps, wept
Just outside our door.
So long, Mr. Hernandez
I hope no loudmouths take your place
And you’ll no longer have to worry
About all the fascists