He walked the streets of the old mill town long past the heyday of his life heavy soles on his shoes, thick shanks, for uneven legs heavy frock coat hang like a weight slumped gait, hunched shoulders Jet black toupee, like an all black skunk perched over salt and pepper brows sunken eyes, smell of the bourbon, the ripple, the smudge of the cigars snubbed out in his fingers, Hands that built, that made things long fallow then, long ago A ghost, walking among the vacant buildings the blocks of the ancient metropolis dormant itself too, hoping for rebirth He in the sun, furtively, back into shadows comfortable at night mostly, wandering his hometown