He doesn’t know we are watching just now
…..as he sits alone on the bench still and quiet
Staring as though one waiting for something
…..back straight, head unmoving, eyes fixed.
It is as though he were a fine gentleman
…..aloof, sipping brandy held in gloved hand
Intentionally unconcerned with prying eyes
…..as he sits playing out this scene of his life.
His eyes glance toward us for moment brief
…..a stolen peek, not over-long, just enough
Deciding if we in turn have mirrored the glance
…..wondering if in judgment or curiosity or both
His cowboy hat is stiff, yet bent, worn and sad
…..his red trench coat and rain-cape incongruous
Displayed with the torn gray sweat pants
…..his gloves missing fingers and shoes well worn
His face strikes me as aged leather, cracked and dry
…..matted white beard laying on his chest, aged
Eyes so small and cold, softened by age and sadness
…..his expressionless face as though flat grey slate
He is homeless, alone, and completely aware of it.
Karen Quinn 19