The Briefcase

He came from far north I can name the country
gray hair cropped to the shape of his skull
good gray suit perfectly pressed
on his sharp shoulders and from a long sleeve
thin hand in leather hooked to a briefcase
and never looked at me as he walked past
how then do I know the voice and accent
I’ve seen him before from time to time
now I try to remember what happened next each time
and I’ve heard what his work is thinker and planner
administrator of a model camp
what kind of camp nobody could say
and he’s on his way from there tight now as I watch him
disappear once more behind a building
while leaves rustle over my head
in the evening and lights come on