stalker

I see the stalker's
car
in the shadows, beneath
the trees.
he's waiting
for a glimpse, a wink
or a wave.
his basket full of goodies
under arm.
he'll never give up.
he's
a knight in rusted
armor, a predator
of the worst kind,
a savior of the blind.
he's as patient
as the snake is at the bottom
of a tree,
with his slithering tongue
and convincing eyes,
waiting for spring,
waiting for the eggs,
for that moment to arrive.