Sunday Morning

Here’s a man just hanging in the light
this Sunday morning on the street
in an army green shirt
and knee length pants
with his feet splayed into a state with no
direction as he stumbles
slightly forward with
an angry shadow for a face
and a growling voice
in his throat quite ready
to uncoil. Catch up, hurry past, don’t
stare. Never look back once
he’s behind. He’s making slow
progress but may
be a danger. Although there’s no space
in his clothes for a gun he’s carrying
his mind concealed.

David Chorlton has long been a resident of Phoenix, Arizona, having grown up in Europe. He writes poetry, paints, and watches the local wildlife daily, as well as events on the nearby streets. Poetry is often the way he tries to understand his surroundings. Read other articles by David.