Day 19 of 30 Days of Poetry

The shuffle man, his furtive hands
Balled tight in threadbare pockets,
Takes shuffle steps, then shifty scans,
Eyes twitching in their sockets.

Cap hooded close, with shadow face,
Head down between his shoulders,
Slips silent through abandoned space
Where jilted ardour moulders.

Be watchful dear, and wary wise
When out for trysting pleasure
For shadow lairs hold shuffle eyes
That hunger for sweet treasure.