Pulling his image from my memory,
maybe a name, that I spoke in passing,
but I only knew him, in shadows, at the edge
of my vision, prowling the streets, a cypher,
sometimes catching my eye, my attention,
rarely in daylight, beyond norms, convention,
different, from what I expected in this life.
It was how he looked, projecting, how he
carried himself in walking, trudging,
wearing a heavy old trench coat,
soiled gray, maybe drab olive green,
walking hunched over, heavy,
carrying an ancient load too heavy,
at the back edge of private yards, the streets
mostly in whispers, in the shadows of night.
Clearly uncomfortable, out of place,
maybe a resident or maybe a foreigner,
a transplant, I didn’t know, maybe,
but I remember once his hair, a toupee,
looking more like a jet-black skunk,
stapled, affixed above his forehead,
falling almost down to the base of his neck.
I only knew him in shadows,
in the furtive darkness, moving,
I am not certain I know his name,
living specter, evocative, forgotten,
everyman, a ghost prowling downtowns,
darkened streets of northern American cities,
curled black leather shoes encrusted in slush,
black dirt of late-March, those streets…
-----------
Edited February 27, 2024
He prowled the streets, a cypher – v3
He prowled the streets, a cypher – v2
https://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2024/02/he-prowled-streets-cypher-v2.html
February 25, 2024
He prowled the streets, a cypher
https://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2024/02/he-prowled-streets-cypher.html
All of my poems, photographs, and videos are copyrighted by
Raymond A. Foss, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008,
2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021,
2022, 2023, and 2024. All rights are reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss (raymondafoss@gmail.com) for
usage. See all 53,000+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com
Poetry Where You Live.
Poetry, cypher, specter, homeless, ghost,
#poetry #cypher #specter #homeless #ghost
maybe a name, that I spoke in passing,
but I only knew him, in shadows, at the edge
of my vision, prowling the streets, a cypher,
sometimes catching my eye, my attention,
rarely in daylight, beyond norms, convention,
different, from what I expected in this life.
carried himself in walking, trudging,
wearing a heavy old trench coat,
soiled gray, maybe drab olive green,
walking hunched over, heavy,
carrying an ancient load too heavy,
at the back edge of private yards, the streets
mostly in whispers, in the shadows of night.
maybe a resident or maybe a foreigner,
a transplant, I didn’t know, maybe,
but I remember once his hair, a toupee,
looking more like a jet-black skunk,
stapled, affixed above his forehead,
falling almost down to the base of his neck.
in the furtive darkness, moving,
I am not certain I know his name,
living specter, evocative, forgotten,
everyman, a ghost prowling downtowns,
darkened streets of northern American cities,
curled black leather shoes encrusted in slush,
black dirt of late-March, those streets…
Edited February 27, 2024
He prowled the streets, a cypher – v3
He prowled the streets, a cypher – v2
https://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2024/02/he-prowled-streets-cypher-v2.html
February 25, 2024
He prowled the streets, a cypher
https://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2024/02/he-prowled-streets-cypher.html
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