Her long blue eyes meet mine

so strange, as if I might create a problem

or might become one — then she changes, seems

to see, assess that I will make no trouble now

beyond whatever trouble is already there

that I am . . . harmless

(am I harmless? what here is harm? is there harm that I could do?)

Her secret judgment settles

smoothes her brow

and she walks off, on down the sidewalk

through silvery scotch mist

her bleached-out skinny jeans recede

turn at the corner, past the garden, and she's gone

The big man, thick, broad shouldered

skin black as coal, his leather outback hat worn low

neck well-wrapped in grey knit scarf

is still nearby, has stopped across the street

Now half-way down the facing lane,

he stands by emptied trash cans there

not looking at a phone, oddly enough

empty handed

just staring blankly off

Calming down, perhaps?

My presence here does not seem

to cause him fear, suspicion

not even mild concern

Or maybe, unlike her

within his roaring vernal rage

he did not notice . . . anything

Despite the silver sky, green leaves

and fat camellia buds

Nothing beyond his feelings

His feelings, then and there

Nothing beyond himself

***