Rebecca Stansfield - The Man

The man next door in the car,
not speaking in a way of laughter,
just speaking, to his wife.

He notices, I realise who he is,
what kind of man he is.
He knows I know what kind he is,
without even knowing him.

The lights turn green,
his face boiling in the windows doubles reflection,
I laugh because his insecurities,
were only ever once seen by me.

Rebecca Stansfield

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-man-37/