Long hair, don’t usually go for that,
but he’s young, it suits his face.
Chambray shirt in faded black;
sleeves, chinos, rolled, an air of grace
in the way, relaxed, cross-legged, he stands,
tilts his head, pockets his hands,
one suede brogue as if en pointe.
I wonder what places he likes to haunt.
T. Allen Culpepper