Outtake

He stopped to stare, hard to know when, exactly,
besides perhaps the clothes, a bit outdated.
He stands and others pass, matter-of-factly;
they're city dwellers: no surprise, they're jaded.
What was he looking at, to freeze him solid
dust gathering on iron, stoic, stolid?
A lady with her dog? A bitter rival?
Newspaper boy, out trumpeting arrival of some momentous day?
Well, who's to say, we only know he stands,
lamenting no one, no one understands.