You Think You Know

You think you know him, but you don't

know the man behind the silencer dying

to keep away from poverty, shirts 

and shorts hanging in a row on the line 

for all to see and shame him, 

the smell of cooked dark food 

in the hallway of the tenements. 

You think you know him, but watch

what you say lest he let loose his red-eyed 

posse of invective on the verge

of crippling buff-crested bustards,

orange-bellied fruit doves, even common

loons about to sing no more. He's hurt 

for the nonce and looks askance 

at everyone he sees, all likely predators 

he stays in a rage to prove wrong.