Chad Paranteau

 

The Hidden Man

 
Of all the street acts on Fisherman’s Wharf,
his is most entertaining.
He crouches behind his two ferns,
becomes a regular street corner bush
to tourists moving towards him
on their way to the next tour, the next meal.
When he jumps out at them
from behind his disguise,
some are scared right out of their shells.

Soon I’m part of a crowd
gathered behind him,
gazing at the oncoming line
of unsuspecting volunteers.
We pick out the ones
we think scare easily.
See that one in the skirt,
trailing behind on her lover’s arm?
She looks like a screamer.
Oh no, look, they’re crossing the street.
Too bad. She would have been perfect
for the hidden man’s act.

A policeman comes by to lecture
the master of one-sided camouflage,
who knows it’s just a formality,
calls for an intermission
so we can drop our coins in his can, which I do.
When I tell this story later,
I’ll try not to exaggerate,
say only a small group was looking on,
though it probably grew larger
without my noticing.
Maybe an alert dozen of us,
smiling at each new victim.
It’s like each one came from a Kafka story,
ignorant of our knowledge and power,
not noticing our condemning grins
until it was too late.