John Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

John

Recognized with his tie, or bow-tie
Wears a hat or beret, blue shirt, or grey
Ironed his trousers and the shoes shine bright.

This is John, stature.

Morning means being guest in café of Sarah
Then benching, here, there in the mall.

He is old and alive
In counting
Of the end
Till comes death.

But his eyes, his motions
Transfer emotions.

"Hello sir, stop talk…'
Seems to say: '...let us chat."
And his look, behaviour
Follow me to stares.

But I go, don't have heart
He is me in mirror, virtual
So I feel short of time.

Time for what?

"Who is he with what past? "
Boils in me, want to ask
But cannot have no heart.

He can talk of the wars
Of Avro the Arrow
I can see in adobe what youths see in mirror.