cleaverchris

He lounges on a New York bench,
a worn hat covering his eyes.
But he’s not sleeping.
His foot is tapping to a beat I can’t hear.
Slowly at first.
Then the rhythm picks up
and both feet are tapping,
tapping like the drip-drop patter patter
of rain splashing down.
It’s more intense now
as his hands slap his knees—a downpour.
Then I see what he [...]