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Blue grey man

with blue grey eyes

blue shirt

grey jacket

blue jeans

black bag

umbrella (folded)

like one of thousands in this city

put out by a factory

making grey men

He walks with a funny bounce

almost like a limp

in reverse

a little hop

of suppressed joy

or energy

or surprise

He is easy to loose in a crowd

on the Metro

on the street



among the crowds of grey men

in blue shirts

walking down each street

But you sometimes catch a look in his eyes

a touch of green

like a cat

in the blue grey depths

and you think

maybe someone in the factory made a mistake

and didn't make him grey enough

He hides it well

he's at pains to hide it

so precise

with his jacket and umbrella

trying to look like the others

He thinks no one knows it

thinks he's hidden himself so far away

no one can find him

And he may be right

but what a waste

like a caterpillar refusing to become

a butterfly

"I think he's Walter Mitty"

Barbara says

Barbara is old

and good at playing dumb

and innocent

but she knows

age has its advantages

you get the long view

Youth sees only surfaces

"He's such a geek"

"so boring"

"you've got to be kidding, you want him?"

a grey dull man

is all the girl sees

it's all he means people to see

He's afraid

afraid that if he says

what he thinks

or feels

or if he does

what he wants

or if the other grey men

knew he was not really grey

he would be left apart

alone rejected

So he lives alone

and speaks of grey general things

the weather

his hobbies

his work

and dresses like the other

grey men

and keeps himself

to himself

as alone as if he were



no one has to know

And in his mind

he lives his dreams

of adventure


pretty women



and escape

from a blue grey life

He dreams

of friends who really know him

and like him


and dreams of things

that are far away

when his grey mood strikes

I know

I am grey too

with all my colors on the inside

where they don't show

"I think he isn't used to getting

what he wants"

he wants to be Don Juan

and a poet

and a drifter

he wants to be a son-of-a-bitch




He wants to fly far away

from home

and family

and work

and duty

He wants to kill someone

and run away

"I think he's afraid of getting what he wants"

He makes a point

of being kind

to people

being polite

always the gentleman

opening doors

giving money to beggars

because he feels nothing

no compassion

no intimate friendship

he is terrified that his soul

may be grey too

that it feels nothing

Like the Tin Man

in search of his heart

he stands in a forest of strangers

rusting slowly

and wanting to feel

but afraid his soul is lost

But it isn't lost

it's only hiding

behind the dull blue grey face

that hides

the other grey men

and women

like me

who dream

and are not what they seem.

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