What’s he doing in there?

…with humble apologies to Tom Waits

...those disturbing noises pushing
from the basement, and
the faint lingering smell of perfume.
He's home all day, but he won't answer the door.
He stays inside for weeks at a time.
What does he do for work?
And where does he get his money?
And what’s that light,
that slow flickering light
squeezing through the shades?

What the hell is he doing in there?
He doesn’t visit, has no friends.
His number's unlisted.
and he doesn't have a cellphone.
So who calls him all the time?
I hear it ringing.
I saw an old lady walk up to the door
a little before dark,
but she went away without knocking.
Who does he talk to?

What is he doing in there?
That low hum never stops.
I thought I heard a kid's voice coming
from the basement.
And why did those workmen run
a cable from the street?
Who paid for that?

What could he possibly be doing in there?
They say he was once high in government,
perhaps the Stasi. God forbid! Pauli
says he saw him over on Beaumont
street staring at the park garage;
and Frau Rubenfeld swears she saw him
across town in Chauncey Park
talking to a Pakistani.