Now here he comes who came from almost nothing.
He has to be the captain of no comment.
No fault of his his car is made of something Pluto's made of, nor that this bad morning Is spitting tears at him like a grappled student, As here he comes, grey-suited, sealed, unsmiling.
What cracks a smile is when he sees us coming, Our lenses glancing up from nothing doing To crowd him, have him smile until it hurts him, Until his teeth are cold and we're still laughing, Still working, powered up and in position.
It's when he's out of range or out of picture We can it, and the tools of our profession, Throbbing with the clubs that wouldn't have them Or writhing to the click of a clear future, Flop out on passenger seats, get some shut-eye.