Outsiders Poem by Irene Anne Fraser

Amid the dark forms of the street...he stood;
With his arms huddled,...stationed there,.. erect as wood;
He was clear to me, as in the arrival of spring;
In the usuality of me...had my psyche thinking;
Into why he was cool and cold,... pleading for no mercy;
The answer was apparent...maybe... I don't know only to me;
We required no burden of proof as why we could both identify;
That minus any oral exchange, I knew him and he knew I;
This collision was contrived, by a shared portent of premonition;
Partaking of each anothers heightened intuition of thinking;
He was astute into my awareness of this dire situation;
A dispossessed down-and-out, on the brink of his living;
I remained still yet all the while, I knew what he was doing;
As I envisioned his death... to peruse in the morning.