Portrait of a Man I Sense as a Petty Predator

He has hauled onto his back
the dirty blanket of his past.
and does not know how to hide it.
He makes do,
with dull intervals
between breaths —
with transparent words.

With irresolute glances
and hands that hesitate
in an unsure gesture and
a limp handshake.

A dirty blanket
covers his shoulders
with the clinging stains
of former years —
soaked in the smell
of lies, doubts,
petty thefts
(of attention
and of eggs from the henhouse),
stitched with the thread
of sly deceit.

A dark light
wells from his eyes.
It betrays small desires,
a predatory appetite…
and the full conviction
that small prey
has need of a small predator.