his mouth doesn't stop
with the obscenities,
his steel-toed boots have seen
any work in weeks,
   his anger would frighten
            a nervous dog,
all who meet him on the street,
    put their tail between their legs,
         and do not make eye contact,
               he gestures in the air,
                       unfriendly stares,
if his eyes don't burn through you
he'll use his cigarette,
people driving by in cars marvel at
his violence, until he looks into their
private space, their fragile cocoon,
turning faces away,
as he strides, black jeans, black hoodie,
he wears a grey hat but woulda,
bought a black one, if he didn't steal the grey one,
there he goes,
punching air,
punching at plastic highway safety posts,
already low to the ground and
begging for mercy,
as he motions,
like he is a Trojan warrior,
jumping as he drives his fist down,
                   too bad he does not have a mirror to see the angry
frightening clown he has
                           become.