The Man Poem by Rebecca Stansfield
The Man
The man next door in the car,
not speaking in a way of laughter,
just speaking, to his wife.
He notices, I realise who he is,
what kind of man he is.
He knows I know what kind he is,
without even knowing him.
The lights turn green,
his face boiling in the windows doubles reflection,
I laugh because his insecurities,
were only ever once seen by me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/10/2024 6:51:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
