Polite Stranger Poem by Timmy Curran

He walks like a stranger
because that´s what he is
When he walks in the store
prices double, triple, more and more
These are simply the facts
but he cannot react
he has no means to cause a scene
What could he do?
Flail his arms wildly while
shouting incomprehensible sounds?
No, that wouldn´t represent
the colors too well
They know what he is,
know his great weakness
He hides it, but not well,
his calculating face always in flux
there is no haven in this heaven,
not quite miserable, not quite happy
The days pass him as he walks to the store,
says gracias and por favor,
then seals his lips with the
sweat from his fore
Only smiling when he feels
the need to be polite
He is the neighbor, the stranger,
the gaunt man walking by your door