Portrait of a strangely-dressed man

I have used the relative freedom afforded by free verse to ‘paint’ a portrait of a man I suspected was an illegal immigrant from China when out walking in the wild, rural hills north of Ko Tong in the New Territories of Hong Kong.

The range of jade-green peaks unfolded before me
Towards a horizon shrouded by a curtain of haze.
The mist caught the morning sun in a fleeting rainbow,
To gild the stone village homes in the valley below.

He emerged from the bush, shifting uncomfortably
From one foot to another, brushing off some grass,
Tugging at his cheap, unfamiliar polyester suit,
Smoothing wrinkles, giving the lie to his anxiety.

Beneath his straight dark hair, fear and uncertainty
Clouded his pale, angular face. I greeted him, smiling;
He bowed, uncomprehending and hesitant, incongruous
In his dark suit, days-old white shirt and narrow black tie.

He made a futile effort to clean his plastic ‘city’ shoes,
Keeping his black briefcase beside him, like a child’s toy,
Expectant, as if hoping to bag a seat on a crowded train.
We stood staring at one another, neither posing a threat.

I pointed to the sea and the mainland’s far distant hills,
He smiled in guilt and waved a ridiculous map at me.
Dressed as he was, he would mingle inconspicuously
In those hills, more easily than the teeming city he sought.

I bade him farewell, and he bowed as rain clouds
Grew and darkened to the south and west.
Those hills were no place to be in a monsoon rain,
In a cheap suit, plastic shoes, white shirt and tie.

Photo by Meckl Antal on Unsplash