In My Mind's Eye

The Silent Observer

His heels hit the pavement in a steady rhythm,

His every motion a calculated algorithm.

People pass him looking down, their eyes on their feet,

But he never ceases searching, pupils scanning the street. 

His eye meets mine, then continues on,

The moment there, and just as soon gone. 

The wind whips through my hair, nearly knocking me down,

But he remains steadfast, his accomplice a frown. 

Most wouldn't wear coats that thick in this weather,

Or pop the collar up; jaw dissolved into leather. 

"What are you hiding from?" I silently ask,

But then I see the sadness hidden under his mask. 

Is that the outline of a weapon concealed at your waist?

Hidden by your coat, and your sneer of distaste,

The revolver by your hip is no doubt loaded,

And I can't help but grin, my curiosity goaded,

As you flick back the hammer and chamber the bullet,

Place your finger on the trigger and steadily pull it.

My Lord, how they screamed and skittered about,

While on your face lay not a flicker of doubt.

Perhaps if I'd been just a tad bit more wise,

I would have run far away, made the crowd my disguise.

But transfixed was I by your grace under pressure,

How despite all the screams, your face never looked fresher.

And perhaps if I'd been just slightly more sane,

I wouldn't be left with a bullet in my brain.

And I have no doubt, in my grave, still aware,

Yet another massacre has passed with none giving a care.