after dinner walk

you used to see him,
the old man up the street,
walking, hands behind him,
as if cuffed,
a slow gait
to the end of the corner,
then back again.
his glasses,
wire rimmed and round,
his brown bald
head shining
in the dusky sunlight.
he seemed to be thinking
of something.
the past, the future,
but still nodding hello,
breaking the trance
that he was in.
he never stopped to chat,
you never knew his name.
but you missed him
when he no longer
passed by your window.