Passing Time Poem by Gert Strydom

A man with dark glasses,
and a bulge under the left arm
of his sports jacket,
was dropped off
by a four by four
with darkened windows,
with a black official looking briefcase
got on the bus as the last passenger
just before it left the curb
and his eyes went to his wristwatch,
as if making absolutely certain of the time
and I wondered about that executioner, spy, agent,
provocateur or civil servant
or whatever he was
and I call him that because of the officious
reality that he brought with him
and why he was taking the buss
to this day I still do not know.

Was he there to meet somebody,
or to get off somewhere?
His eyes
was filled with a strange energy
and he was looking everywhere
without really focusing anywhere
and when he spoke to me
it was about something quite indistinct
and I got the clear impression
that he was just passing time
as if somewhere
it would catch up again with him.