Fine Motor Skills

His jacket was greasy, his collar was frayed,

and he sat in the seat where the shadows are laid.

His fingers were heavy and thick as a root,

with the soil of the garden still black on his boot.

He took out a wrapper of silver and red,

and ignored all the noise that the teenagers spread.

He folded a wing and he creased down the tail

with a thumb that was cracked like a weathered old rail.

The dirt in his knuckles was packed in so deep,

it looked like a secret he wanted to keep.

A crane made of foil sat small in his palm,

a moment of silver, a moment of calm.