sipping an iced brew succulent
as a summer cherry.
He comes from my
right, glaring at the movement of my eyes
as I notice shiny
Florsheim loafers standing out against his ragged bottom,
encrusted street-stained
jeans no longer blue.
Our eyes meet.
“Like what you see?” says
he sarcastically with a deepening scowl.
I bow - not to honor,
but to hide.
I watch as he comes,
moments later, from my left with a quickened pace.
Our eyes again meet.
He strides by, a
silent scowl intact
turning squarely, carrying
only his thoughts.
I bow - not to honor, but to hide.