Trolliver's grave eyes

Trolliver's grave eyes

         for Travis Oliver

Limp bangs hanging, sipping rosemint,
Trolliver leans back on the pole nonchalant:
slim assed and black dressed for success.

He's glad he came to New York.

Thin lips search landscapes of pavement and dirt.
He'll always have jobs as long as there're sidewalks to work.
His California dreams reflect street blight and hurt.

Still glad he came to New York.

Eyes become grave; lashes blink from the grime;
then in a flash of a smile he's gone as he glides,
Hey honey, you're cute, do you have the time?

So glad he came to New York.

© 2009 Kåre Enga [165.439] 2009-02-10

Note: edited 03-11-09 on Travis' birthday. Original in blog entry: "Trolliver's grave" .