Hellish Past Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Hellish past

He
Wore cap that was red
Wore beard; was grey
And a shirt with collar
Three-Buttons-Tricot,
Two open, one fastened
He
Sat high on steps
As if at podium
The highest of three
On sidewalk, on cement

Eyebrows very thick
His moustache rough bushy
With trace of smoke, white-brown.

Coffee cup; Tim Horton,
Same level with his butt.

And he talked
Talked and talked
Talked and talked
He lectured
His face filled with wrinkles
His veins raised
Shoulder-bones appeared
But topic was secret
No one heard.

Energy had no end
Audience vacuumed.

He pulled out of his soul
Hellish past
For himself, with himself
On wall-side, with no one.