Tallboy

A poem about a friend of mine. I guess I don't have to describe him...

He is postured like a crane.

Long legs take slow deliberate steps.

Neck bent down in that strange avian fashion,

always watching his feet a mile below.

We are acknowledged only as mites.

A cold glazed glance passes us over

and then moves along to the next step

where he tries ever so kindly not to squish us.

Jets of steam pour out his nostrils

as every so often a lump of coal hits the furnace

One more lump of coal to keep the power on.

One more jet of steam shades the white clouds greyer.

As a mild wind whistles by leaving my hair in a mess.

He stops and his joints groan as he teeters slowly

as though deciding whether he should fall or stay standing.

Unremarkably he moves on, watching his next step from above.