The Dish Man

The Dish Man There’s a man on the roof across the way; Walking with a sure-footed gait What is he doing there, I wonder. He is entertaining to say the least. He trods and throws a big dish down, I watch his every move; He is frozen to the bone, I think, Mackinaw, hat and gloves. I go to the kitchen to get a snack, When I come back, he is gone. Did he fall off that roof, slide down, Or fly away, the dish, too, is not there! Did that dish become a magic carpet ride? Did he swoop through the winter clouds? Will he join a drone, take another home? Find a friend and a fireplace fire? Such are the musings on a cold wet Saturday afternoon, Without him, what am I to do? Watch cable?