He was stood at the door as if he didn't know what door it was and it was him
as clear as the nose on my face it was him looking thinner now, eyes a bit dimmer now,
stood at the same door,
the paintwork scuffed by years and mistrust of exorbitant prices charged by local traders the paint your own raiders, but fading all the same.

I didn't know him now,
change is a funny cow when
life gives you the milk and
then it turns sour.

He stood there for an hour
the shadows moved up his raincoat and
dropped into his pockets,
hands aimlessly wandering at the ends of his wrists.

I missed something about him
not sure what it was and it was him
I'm sure of it.