The wind blew hard, Cars swooshed past; Bicycles, people, swayed faster, And he stared. As we walked along, The old man with the bristly hair, Yellow but fair, He stared; At me…? In shock at first; Soon he realized, I was real, Just very dark, Darker than him, And so, he stared. We walked side by side, Slow, sometimes fast; Wrinkling the cold kissed skin, His neck motioned, Sideways, sideways, His eyes squinted open, The old man, He, Pretended not to see me. But together, we Snuck looks; One of wonder, The other of disbelief, Is he serious? Can he be mad? What is he looking at? I need to pull up my leggings? Damn, what is it, he wants? He just keeps looking… Once in a while; He gazes, Into the distance ahead, His patched coat from winters gone. Up, up, he climbs the steps faster; Only to stop, and look down, One long hard look, She backs away, irate! He sighs, unconvinced, Scoffs almost, Ho
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