The curled up grey bristle could be called a beard,
His loud vociferous dialogue with a light pole. Weird.
His clothes had holes and ***** coat was smeared.

I think he twitched more than he talked,
I could not help myself as I gawked,
then just as suddenly, away he walked.

I walked around to the road side windows,
there he stamped his feet, doing the flamenco?
Never mind you weren't there, this is innuendo!

Once again he weaved his way away. There he was gone.