He’s returned to the scene; they always return.
Incognito means ball cap drawn and cheap sunglasses
hiding calculating eyes. He’s cold, duffel bag in tow –
unsure how many heads it would hold, but eager to learn.
That one’s Billy. I know because his name is repeated ;
his mother’s screech is invasive. Jeans torn at the knees,
pulling chewing gum from hidden places, saying curse words
to the old man “shushing” in the library. Glue for Lepages.
Just an observer, that’s all I’ve become. In the doorway,
out of the downpour. Tabulating cars/buses; trusses on the “El”;
going to hell for lascivious thoughts. I ought to get work. A jerk
feeling a draft below not knowing my fly’s undone. I’m cold too!
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 