Wharfside bar light

Some people I know better than to catch their eye
because they know how not to leave bruises.

You know the ones I mean.

The ones always just coming in,
pausing in the doorway,
surveying,

before being seen.

Who know how to read braille from afar
day old welts pulsing softly,
beckoning...

The weak and the mean

gravitate towards each other
in the dim bar light
and I watch hoping

to slip out unseen.