He doesn't usually walk,He paces,
A nod to the computer guy,
A friendly hello to the arrogant shopkeeper.
Always on the move,
Popular with the masses,
But I am struggling here,
To anatomize his language.
Sometimes I think he is a saint,
But then I know he has skeletons in his closet,
We should have a few,
Everyone has them, he doesn't seem any different.
I can't see him in the eye,
What if he really has no subtext,
What I see is what he is,
And I am the one with the real issues that need sorting out.
~ A Poem By Fizz, © 2014
