A timid man
guarding a blind alley,
leading to a shop for hanging
Aged, lean, pale, a small man,
wearing woollen things, sitting on a stool,
one hand resting on another
Whenever a buyer stops,
he looks terrified,
as a caged bird, the butcher
slits for home delivery
A thoughtful man,
sunken eyes, dry limbs,
never moves,
never asks shoppers
for a visit to his boss’s tapestry
A street dog and the man,
eye with one another at times,
the only thing he does for his chair
in his duty hours
If detected, his owner
will free him, another chance
non-viable, and the blind alley’ll get
a chap with a torch
to light his day
