Greaseman

The man with the dirt-caked disheveled hair,
Dirt-caked mug, and dirt-caked rags for clothing
Lie crumpled on the side-street beside the
Emporium owned by a stout-faced Chinese.

Passers-by pay no heed as he turns from
His worn-out position to a new one;
They do not ask of the perennial why,
Nor the what-became-of, and stroll along.

Greaseman opens his eyes, scanning the field
For the inquirer ready for answers,
As the image of a passing face takes
Him back to her.