In Passing

Hanging his head low
Working hands undo
Silver Container of spirit
Because his spirit's lost
And this seems to be
The best way to pass time.

Swallowing hard
His apple makes a vicious move
Within his ravaged throat;
Sucks his teeth a little
Cocks his head to the right
And with one grim look
Encompasses me into his fable.

A silent minute
Or two
We go on with our game
I blink
He looks down
Weary eyes to my script
Unseen;
He rummages through
A collection of bags at his feet
Producing a small leather book
As my scribing ceases
And I look on in wonder
Further with question
As to why his hand's outstretched;
But with each page turned
The message clearer
Artist to artist
Recognition sublime...
©2010cchristopherbess