The Artist

 

He walks by his favorite restaurant
but it's too busy
so he keeps on walking.
His awkward blue suit probably
provides little protection from the cold,
let alone ridicule, but he wears it proudly,
like a super hero wears his cape.
He's hungry
but waits two hours
for the rush to die down
and other, more accepted suit wearers
to thin out.
The wait staff knows him
and his preference for solitude.
He sits in the same corner booth
and always orders his eggs
sunny-side up.  His long, curly mustache
would make it hard to see him smile
if he ever did.
He sips his black coffee
and reads the newspaper
as if he has nowhere else to go.