Their identikits are a mystery.

I couldn’t recognize them

by the reflection

of the wind

Nor by the sensors

On my blind stick.

They walked by me

with sympathy.

“Your son looks like you,”

one of them said,

leaving me

on the pavement of silence.

What does he look like?

Did he like it?

What do I look like?

What is the meaning of the identikits?

Why can’t I

have a simple answer

for a simple question?

What is the difference between

white and black?