Wednesday the 16th of June.

‘Believe me’

Said the old dear

With rheumy eyes

Watering the whiskers on her chin

I could see them grow

‘Not five days ago

Sitting over in that corner

Leaning into the shadow

The edges of his black shirt

Bleeding into the space

Between table and wall

Was an invisible man

His wide brimmed hat

Pulled down low over his brow

Touching the top of his shades

Tilting his head forward

To peek out at the world beyond

You could just make out his eyes

As dark as night, they were

Most men wear a hat like that

To cover up their bald heads

As if anybody cares

But he wanted to remain hidden

As if he was never there

It is my guess that

Being invisible is why

Everybody in the Curate's Egg saw him

Not his face, of course

But if they were asked

What the man wore

What he chose to eat,

Scrambled eggs on rye

With a side of bacon

And a flat white

Ne’re everyone in the cafe

Would remember

Some thought he was a pirate

Cap’n Jack or Bluebeard

But in this day and age

It was more likely

That he was on the run

Maybe he carried a gun

Nobody stood to challenge him

Not even when he left

Nobody saw him go

One minute he was there

As large as life

The next, he was gone

There was speculation

He had just disappeared

In a puff of smoke

But they were the miscreants

People who believed in ghosts

Magic runes and the like

We get those,

Hypothecary hippocrates

Selling their wares

In the market come Sunday

Hard to believe in a civilised

Place such as this

Others said he went

To the gents room and didn’t return

Maybe he was never there

But then who ate the food

Drank the coffee

Left the wad beneath the plate

Left a smell, faint though it was

A bit like gunpowder

The aftermath of a firework display

Sawdust on the floor

A trail, leading to the door

Nobody will sit there now

Say it’s cursed

The unlucky chair

If you ask me

He was The Reaper

Stopped off for a bite

Before calling on somebody

To give the last rites

Old Joe, lived in the house

On the corner, lost his wife

Last year

Well he upped and died

That day...without warning

Heart gave out

Not a word to anyone

Just fell down on the floor

Arms folded across his chest

For all the world

As if he was laid to rest

What say you

About that my clever friend

With the fountain pen

And notepad

Flat cap to hide

A bald head

What say you about that?’