Comes to rest
taking a moment
in the falling rain
slowly massaging the
veins at the top
of his bald head
Cracking his neck
while the yellow cabs start
honking behind him
Unwilling to move
from this spot
Unwilling to move
He looks like he’s either
having a Zen attack
or re-aligning his inner
child
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem