Monday, 16 April 2012

Alone he stands there smoking...

He stands there
Against the glass.
Beard built wild and
Filling his
Face like a monk.

A nervous energy
Makes him
Bounce back and forth,
Rocking on his heels
Like a broken

He takes from his pocket
A cigarette,
lights it in one movement
And turns to see his
In the window.

His reflection pleases him.
Arms showing
Rippled in a wife beater
Bleached white by the sun.
Tensing, he leans
Into his body.

His shaved head 
Makes him appear strong.
Self image is important 
And smoking
Completes him.

He smokes the cigarette but
Doesn't inhale,
he exhales too
His movements are nervous
And his energy

It's all an act and
I find myself
Praising him.
Guitar music plays inside the
Cafe, but
He cannot hear it.
The sound of
People's voices is his amphitheatre,
Their stolen looks
His public.

I photograph him
And he sees me, and for 
A second considers
Something wicked.
But then he just smiles shyly.