He misfits,
wonders silently inside,
keenly down the ancient road,
pavement for the newfound adventurer.
Choosing his tread against the grain,
time to amuse on extinction,
the ordinary become extraordinary.
Side-ways glances over his shoulder,
as people glide, pass singulary by.
Each intent in their own inclination,
all a closely kept “Dear diary.”
An intimate tempered fresco
of their own vain vision.
He has his own distractions.
The souls of leathered feet still shake
off the dirt that judders birds, like disease
the traveller’s thoughts are oft in his head.
Steps echo off the curb, resonate
sparse distant rain in the dry streets,
marking the line into a socialite world.
