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Poem asking the important questions

Photo by Maheima Kapur on Unsplash

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What does all this mean?
he thinks, as he drags the rattling cans
of garbage to the concrete curb,
his mouth a watery chimney in the cold.

What purpose am I here to serve?
he wonders, standing in the shower stall,
body pelted with steamy rain
as he squeezes shampoo from a plastic tube,
works its lather into a minty tingle in his hair.

It must mean something, must matter to live,
he muses, quietly, watching his dog
take a giant brown shit in the grass
as he sips coffee and squints
between the curtain and the window,
bare feet cooled on the floor.

What’s the significance, the genius behind the design?
he asks himself, hanging up the phone,
more bad news from the oncologist,
the lesions have grown,
they’ll take another biopsy soon,
maybe another round of chemo.

Why am I here? he asks the mirror.
The clock on the wall clicks its incessant click.
His mother once forgot
to wish him Happy Birthday.