Fingerprint Men

In café booths on station
platforms, looking at tracks
but never moving, the Fingerprint
Men will be there, tracing.

“I shall keep this
brief,” I said
to myself, “I shall
do as I’m told.”

The sun arrived, short-sleeved,
and a white car slid
by. Everything looked
Californian for a second.

“I just wanted to touch
base,” he said.
“It seems to be moving
in the right direction.”

Racing the rats, or heading
towards the circus, the Fingerprint
Men will be there, cheating
on their wives, and smiling.