The Grey Man

There were images the grey man could not see Did not want to see, in all probability Walking by the glass doors and windows of modern stores No warmth of being within their cold crisp alloy frames Where flickering shadows had been cast by troubled lamps High above the manikins with their blank eyes and no names He saw no reflection of his life therein The bubble of his own life just waiting for a pin Cold and grey though he was, the irony escaped again Smart suits warming lifeless bodies in a warm store Would he lean against another door later to soak up Any escaping heat - then off, the shadows to explore Seek cardboard to burrow below before the night frosts Dark grey, pale black, damp mists swallowing each snore Awake he escaped from the clinging damp pulp in clumsy steps Kicking bottles in the raw alleyway between sagging walls Knowing the time was now to find the bakers back door open Escaping heat and misshapen scraps were welcome siren calls Creaking boots with tied on soles protesting at patchy puddles His progress stealthy to be sure red rags didn't catch sight Her own bed safe below the tarpaulin of a rusty skip Soon pockets filled with crusty burnt rolls before flight He ventured to the nearby park to share with ducks and pigeons Ready for him to return with the sun as ever from the night He snapped off the ice clinging to the water fountain Thawed it in his mouth wondering why he never found gin Gin or vodka at a pinch would have balanced the blank taste The last of the rolls was gone, his pockets turned back in Pigeons darting between mallards to snatch the final crumbs The sight warming his grey lips, grey eyes, grey skin The bench was still damp when he stretched out on it To watch the faint sun glinting through low cumulus Forty winks he thought before the morning joggers came by Lunch time saw a brighter spell, a young couple off the bus Throwing crumbs of pie crust and bread to the ever needy Birds that hunted around the grey man who woke with a cuss The couple passed by scarcely noticing his form move Intent upon their love of life and the bright colours they wore The pigeons moved on too, following hopefully behind them Leaving grey man to potter behind the ducks to the shore Of the pond where he stooped to splash green water on his face Some lingering on his once proud grey gaberdine coat once more And as he straightened up and looked down into the ripples He saw no reflection of his life therein The bubble of his own life just waiting for a pin... ©Rhumour June 19th 2009