I had come to the kitchen to fix a bracket fan
When I noticed a grey, ponderous chap,
sitting smug and unseen near the tea-whitener can.
He was nibbling a slice of cinnamon bread
that I had saved the day before to enjoy
perhaps with marmalade or chicken spread.
Savoring his lunch, he sat there unafraid:
his audacious way of eating, his magisterial aspect
and a regal, self-assured way he conveyed,
infused in me an uncanny measure of respect.
He was a recluse, a guest come from afar,
mocking the ordinary and mundane.
I quietly retreated, leaving the door ajar.
Was it a retreat or something just humane?