A heater plugged in across the room
sitting on a chair made electric sounds
like it had a loose fan.
It kept him warm, that’s all he cared.
No one had bought his work for awhile.
He painted and wrote anyway.
Supper time but it was cold.
He wasn’t going out in that,
not for the meal he could afford.
A knock. He answered.
“Your ship just came in.”
He opened the letter It slowly said:
“Your Fathers dead.
He left most of the bank roll to you.
Come and see your ailing mom!”
He buttoned his coat, went to the store.
Purchased a new typewriter and brushes.