Smoke

A poem
By Chris Hibbard

Smoke

Smoke

I am the unnoticeable man
The man on your right on the bus this morning
The man you looked through like a windowpane
The man you asked to lend you a smoke
I am the man writing in his book
Tapping his toe to songs never recorded
I am the man too busy living to live
Too hurried, too worried, to blink
The man who waits too long
Who gives too much
Whose wishes are too quiet to hear
I am the man who they say will change the future
The man of clay whose bones can bend
The man they label no one until he dares to grow
I am the led, the easily fed
I am the tool, the ubiquitous fool
I am safe and sound
Uncomplaining dust on the ground
I am the statue on which pigeons perch
I am the unnoticed

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~ by Chris Hibbard on October 31, 2008.