There's a man I like to look at
now and then

I swear he looks at me
...a man, I'd guess not tall
well-suited up for office work
in two-toned tie, white shirt
dark jacket

his brown-looking eyes ringed beneath
from weariness, but mellow
with a hint of devilry
wistful enough to make me doubt
he saw his dreams come true
but they hold a sense of love

his smile is tight
Mona Lisa enigmatic
but with the added trace
of a mustache over friendly lips
a promise of laughter in the cheeks

he wears his black hair short
it's stiff and stands straight up
slightly thinned and grey-streaked
his ears are neat, and well-tucked back

I welcomed him into my home
protected him in a plastic sheet
this stranger that I found
tucked within a second-hand book
mid-way through Grace Kelly's story

just an old photo, appears to be the l960's
4 X 5 I'd say, a black and white
no name or details on the back

displaced portrait of a person
saved there by a woman in
memento of their grand passion?
Or a grown-up daughter, missing her home life?

Had he served time in our services?
He might be a Canadian
a churchgoer or agnostic.
Perhaps he aspired to write a book
or dabbled in crime, in a secret life?

I wonder if he imagined this image
would be long-cherished, not left
to an anonymous end?
Was he just his own bookmark?
Maybe he was a bachelor all his life?

I told my friends, if nothing else
he at least deserves a poem and
he's landed safe with me, a poet

I haven't named him yet
this man on whom I hold no claims
it's true he doesn't
belong to me

all that is certain
is he lived; maybe still walks the earth
or rests in hallowed ground

forever my enigma
he keeps me company where I write
and we get along just fine

03/23/2001

Posted on 06/29/2004
Copyright © 2024 Maureen Glaude