CCTV records marionette motion,
operates a Henry Ford policy
on colour, the street familiar:
we’ve all been there.
What happens next is a head
with thinning hair, a gesture
from hands kept in Humphrey Bogart
raincoat pockets. A smile that reminds us
of some long-lost acquaintance.
Could be anyone, really. Maybe
a computer programmer
or someone unable to hold down
a steady job due to compliance issues.
The awkwardness of the baby-blue lunchbox
and never really knowing what to say.
Until this random punch renders him no-one.