He's got his pink trousers on
Today. The floor has his
Undivided attention, his trademark bag
Flutters empty behind him, his
Cigarette hanging loosely from his
Cracked white lips.
Halting, he lifts his heavy
Head, the sun crushing his eyelids,
Until he stops
The onslaught with his hand.
The clock stares down,
Disappointment objectified.