Old Man

He ambles like a citizen.

Wind won’t touch him.
Street toughs leave him be.
What does a man like that do?
They ask.

He watches
Small-boned sparrows
As they fly, collects stray dogs,
Counts odd stones and scattered teeth;
Knows what the happy, fat ones
Will come to.

When he strolls
By silver water under the bridge,
Gnats part like cheering crowds,
Mosquitoes hide.

The cops have nothing on him.

They know when a man
Like that walks far enough
No one will follow.

Crack a bone
Or split a stick,
You’ll find his finger print.