The stranger took my hand
and holding it tightly within his own -
(such a grotesque specimen of mortality) -
bent over as best he could
brushing lips of rubber against prickling skin
then smiled and let me go
only to leave me with the vagary of haunted eyes
and the blessing of a lonely soul
King's Lynn, Norfolk - June 1995
Penny Hemans
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-stranger-14/
