NaPo 09 ~ Joe

Seems I'm a few behind ...

Joe

Joe is invisible today. He's lowered
his hood to set his face free, let breathe
the scabs and growths in his bones
that dapple his jaw, his brow. Joe

knows he's invisible by the lack
of eyes that look back, the turn
of necks to shopfronts blocking
the street from hiding space,

their flow of goods through doors
isolate each of his feet. Where Joe
steps, a cloak of space flutters,
clearing crowds so he can see

what offers have been set to tempt
the coins in his pocket; Joe has
many pockets set to empty and fill
though staff can't spot Joe beyond

the hand that holds the coins, lets drop
the coppers on counters. Still,
a hand is as good as a speech
for a man who cannot be seen.