A Poem from Janet Cannon's  Poetry Room at IsleWrite.com

town voyeur

every town has one sometimes
two and the cities are filled but
our town voyeur is unmistakably
the baneful thumb of his own
pitifully sore existence with his felt

hat of disguised protection and
shades of sun glazed need he
wears the trenchcoat of aloneness
like the north side of winter
where the snow never melts

his rubber buckled boots bind
the wind of his being keeping the
water out and mold on his soul
slash pocket hand-filled frustration
walks with him all around town

everyone avoids his shifting
sidestep gait and the hump on
the back of his mutterings the
newspaper never writes about him
the radio stations never mention him

the police ignore his existence
yet he maunders about the town
with glasses of disgust and
fear has never attempted help or
queries of how he got here why he

stays and who the loving person is
who nurtures the dawn of his dreams
no one ever asks who the loving
person is who nurtures the sunset
of his heart no one ever asks

Poem by  Janet Cannon

Previously published in
Southwest Heritage
College of the Southwest
Hobbs, NM
The Last Night in New York
A chapbook by Janet Cannon
Homeward Press
Berkeley, CA