Silhouetted against late-afternoon windows,
his posture a lazy S, with shoulders hunched,
head tilted down toward his cell phone,
long-legged knees angled, sneakers
on the foot rail of the bar stool,
straw-colored hair an beard a little
scraggly but attractively so,
head topped with knitted cap.
The place is hardly empty,
yet when I later view the photo
I surreptitiously snapped,
he’s the only one in the picture,
as if the others had all been ghosts.
T. Allen Culpepper