The man walks about with untied shoes
and wears no jacket in the bitter cold.
He knows the art of punctuation
and what a perfectly placed comma
will do to a person.
Drinks cheap vodka
like it's water,
literally pissing away his money.
He scratches himself
and never combs his hair.
He paints portraits of people
in their true colors as he sees them
and laughs at their reactions to his work.
He doesn't vote
or believe in politics
or even watch the news.
Can't swim or dance,
but still dives into the rhythm of the tide.
He speaks nonsense to please his therapist
and occasionally phones his mother.
Calls me woman,
not girl or young lady,
but woman.
The man is dangerous.
