shelter in the city
an old top hat tumbles
down an urban alleyway
one gray wintry night
a single boot and smile
stopping it in its tracks
held beneath a streetlamp
scratches appear in the
faded charcoal felt
each crooked line a story
in and of itself
silvery lining holds imaginary
tales of happenstance
and midnight waltzes
murmuring like a seashell
untouched for centuries
gloveless fingers slide across
bent brim collecting
snowflakes and glances from
all the homeless eyes
seeking cover for the night
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
oh – I really like this one, John – the seashell reference such a great idea – fascinating – I want to know what happens next ! 🙂 K
thanks so much, Kathleen – glad you enjoyed this one ;`)
Very visual here. Emotional close. Nicely done!
Thank you, Gretchen. I appreciate you commenting on this piece.
“tales of happenstance
and midnight waltzes
murmuring like a seashell…”
A wonderful comparison, John! And as usual, your trademark compassion and nostalgic reverie infuse this poem. It’s sounding very cliché of me to say the poem and subject resonate, but with that image of conch-shell/tophat? You had me at “an old top hat.”
Thank you very much, Tess, for commenting on this piece. So glad you enjoyed this poem that first started out as a couple of tweets ;`)
So interesting to me lately where inspiration may come from, and from tweeting, at that! Muses now frequent cyberspace.