Background into Fore

Blends into the scene, he does so well,
a man, or so-called
an invisible man, one almost known but vaguely so.
this man makes no style, no affront,
passing by easily; not a chameleon, but
as to appear, to be anywhere, out
in the open,
but invisible still,
and still.
on the bus, he watches, even stares,
but no one cares.
he works alone to no avail.

A poker face almost, naturally,
he played no card games, at least none for cash.
and yet he recalls, with no expression still,
and still,
“it used to be a great city here,”
flourished, welcome and welcoming.
then crime and corruption, plus or from
mediocrity, good intentions, perhaps with
certain misuse, abuse, they paved the way
to hell.
it is what it is, now
living or dead, a city of corpses.

Once, twice, shouts nearby,
the invisible man notices, sees
a man owing,
a man in black now blue and red.
the invisible man ponders,
out of a few times — rare, an approach
to help this man, this bloodied, broken man,
unconscious but not dead.
but how?
broken himself from long ago,
the invisible man believes he could
only make matters worse.

One, two, three days pass,
the man in the back finds the man in black,
in the paper, but not the first time;
the face rendered, bruised now,
this one, one that had
wealth, but gambled,
now drunk and mad.
stuck between worlds, stuck in the cracks,
the man in black lost his love,
love of his life,
like everyone else
in this godforsaken city.

Five, ten, thirty days pass,
the invisible man walks
down his common alley, past
drug dealers, snake oil sales;
down another, prostitutes,
and police, crooked, paying them.
how depressing this is
to face, when faced, and ill.
all his life, this is all
the reality, or distorted
when seen through tempered lens.
maladjusted, unadjusted,
he still believes he’d only make matters worse.

But things get worse, with
dark nights darker, cold nights colder.
he cannot help but wonder
how worse it is for the man in black.
the invisible man avoided
terror at all costs,
but now the terror comes when alone,
the charge against a life made empty—his!
a spell comes over.
Shadows jump; sounds mock and creep.
Walls press in, to the beat of his heart.
Pound, pound, pounding closer, and Closer.
He pleas silently, vows change.

A change of heart, his
invisible heart beats,
to finally see the man in black,
to help, hopefully;
past rock bottom, both men are;
matters could not fall further.
no expertise, no sleep but no stress to need it,
he knocks, enters.
the man in black, trusting, sober, tells
the now-no longer invisible man, that
his love lost is not lost,
but divorced.

A break in the clouds, no thunder heard.
a break in crime, criminals jailed,
even those cops.
all of the sudden, he pauses to see
a woman, straight ahead — Candy lips, Ruby red.
what made him shift, a most amazing thing:
she is staring, smiling directly at him!
he turns; behind, finds
no one else.
back, he stands frozen in time.
She walks forth, slow as his
paralyzed, well-tortured eyes could see.

He wakes up.
he finds himself, his hands
applying sink water to his face.
barely looking, expecting to find
all he’d seen just a dream.
persistent, consistent so long
at his work,
he carries his day to then find
a note! it’s her! she’s real! Oh, God!
the expression on his face changed
somewhat, for his being used to being
…non-existent, not being.

Heart open, now committed
to a genuine, true self.
for what he became, it would
kill him as with, or with a drug,
now a lover himself, it is then he recalls,
from experience and logic,
wiping cobwebs from his tired mind.
What does he find?
But find again:
“Everyone gets what they deserve in the end.”

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