you would not know I was here
my face is everyman's face
my breath lingers in dark toilets
as you pull the long string for light

my eyes are oval and cold
as eyes on old men's oil-on-canvass
somehow just off center a tad
not noticeable in the dark

loitering near the corner
a cipher to those who pass me by
I can stand there for hours
pigeons eye me suspiciously

but not you in the evenings shade
I stand mottled by the half sun
the day is becoming darker
I blend in like another shadow

I never speak, even when spoken to
by strangers to pass the time of day
they turn up their collars and hurry on
something tells them to not look back

who am I, have you already guessed
names mean next to nothing in my world
I'm the man nobody sees
but feels a presence when they pass by

I'm a hired killer, waiting for my mark
that's why I stand here for so long
as if I've missed my ride
I'm like a piece of household furniture

I'm here at the corner where you walk
each afternoon - they can set a clock by you
you make a left at the next block
don't bet on making that left turn today

©May 17, 2012 / Jerry Pat Bolton