The Intruders
by David Francis
Slumming is an
important part of their
phony lives: bargain basement clothes and
shades
mask the real intentions that they don’t
dare
reveal to their minds even through
charades.
They shift like ghosts through these
flesh and blood folks
as stiff as ironing boards stretched with
starched suits
though unlike the city trees and live
oaks
proffering shade, they don’t, they
have no roots.
Well, they have no roots here. Just
passing through.
They are rich gypsies with a safety net,
uptight hobos who ride a rail or two,
get their SAG card, drag on their
cigarette.
Such a slight pull of dad’s job or a
wife
to gravitize them back to their true life— |
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