Not being one, but
being one who knows
a stranger looking at you
in a certain way
is an ex-con
trying to get the same look
out of you,
you hold his gaze
for that exquisite length,
after which he knows
you know he is,
you aren't,
and you're here on legitimate biz.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem