Raymond A. Foss Poems

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He walked the streets
of the old mill town
long past the heyday of his life
heavy soles on his shoes,
thick shanks, for uneven legs
heavy frock coat hang like a weight
slumped gait, hunched shoulders
Jet black toupee, like an all black skunk
perched over salt and pepper brows
sunken eyes, smell of the bourbon,
the ripple, the smudge of the cigars
snubbed out in his fingers,
Hands that built, that made things
long fallow then, long ago
A ghost, walking among the vacant buildings
the blocks of the ancient metropolis
dormant itself too, hoping for rebirth
He in the sun, furtively, back into shadows
comfortable at night mostly,
wandering his hometown

May 28, 2007 23:58

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