NO ONE KNOWS

He has returned to the scene; they always return.
Incognito means ball cap drawn and cheap sunglasses
hiding calculating eyes. He’s cold, duffle bag in tow –
unsure how many heads it would hold, but eager to learn.

Nope, no one knows.

That one is Billy. I assume so because his name is repeated;
his mother’s screech is invasive. Jeans torn at the knees,
he pulls chewing gum from hidden places, saying curse words
to the old man “shushing” in the library. Glue for Lepages.

Nope, no one knows.

She is afraid of the world, a vicious orb and its people,
she cowers below the steeple that towers above the sanctuary.
It is a scary place that she possesses, and she obsesses
over forgotten loves and suitors, a mental computer of regret.

Nope, no one knows.

He stands outside the cemetery gate and waits his call to join her.
His pains are hidden and he has forbidden anyone to mention
her dementia. He will not answer questions about his cancer.
He merely waits. He is not a miscreant or transient. He is only lonely.

Nope, no one knows.

The shelter is busy tonight. No one delights in their predicament.
Meals offered while they last and a fast respite from their despair.
They go there for warmth. They come seeking comfort,
neither a lasting gift, just a momentary lift from their sad existence.

Nope, no one knows.

Just an observer, that’s all I’ve become. In the doorway shadow,
out of the downpour. Tabulating cars/buses; trusses on the “El”;
going to hell for my misguided thoughts. I ought to get work. Just a jerk
feeling a draft below, not knowing my fly’s undone. I’m cold too!

Nope, no one knows.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017

Poetic Asides Prompt #384 : Nope

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