The Man Who Thought He Was Invisible

I know the man on the porch
Watches in the window.
I leave the shade open
And the dim light on
While I go about my business.

He chain-smokes
With a chair facing the window
That I leave open
Not for him,
But for the breeze.
And the homeless night sounds.

Crying babies and sputtering engines
With the occasional domestic dispute
All fade to white noise
When the breeze wafts them in.

This man sees me
Even now
As I sit on the twin bed
In what isn't even my room
writing about him.
Sparsely clothed.