He wears a coat and jacket, shirt and vest,
but pulls the extras off to read and ride
and nap commuting home. He starts his rest
and I can see his head and eyelids slide –
he’s sloping east while sun sets in the west.
His elder face in creases dignified,
his glasses glinting downward as his chest
inverts to slouch – it’s like he’s fortified
by extra clothing round his slender form,
by magazine positioned at his waist.
On window corner seat, in bus too warm,
he screens a waking dream of dinner’s taste.
His rangy eyebrows hang like willow fronds
that sweep the shadowed surface of a pond.