The Eclectic

Bright cloth, short hair, bespectacled
dressed like the locals
sat among the men on the same table
while they were being vocal
from all the wine and what the house has to offer
from the smoke and smoked fish from the river
he sat among the men, quietly, on the same table
not much ideas nor thoughts
he blended right in
didnt differ
the men were vocal
he was silent
he looked like a commoner, local
and secrets were told
and jokes were passed
stories unfold
and the commoner from Zanzibar heard it all

but he wasn’t a commoner
he wasn’t one of them
and through his mouth words leaked like a
noisy pipe with a hole
all the unnecessary
all the misplaced
and the stories were told