A portrait of a man, named he

Rusty white and dirty blue
Peak cap slanted to the sky,
Hiding unwashed hair
To show he does care
But not too greatly.

Flannel shirt
(British colours)
(American)
(Chilean too)
Red, white, blue,
Buttoned to the top, it is never opening hours.

Thick grey cardigan
Woolen, knitted,
deep pockets in which
Hands are fitted,
Cuffs
Rolled (self-consciously)
Twice on either side.

Skinny jeans
Baggy at the crotch
Turned up (not optimistically)
Once on either side.

Revealing brightly patterned socks
To make a statement
(like what?)
He don’t give a shit,
He keeps giving it this shit,
He gives enough to prove himself wrong.

He is his cover.

Has he not been a lover?
Hater?

‘You cunt’
He says, in a drunken stupor
And the other isn’t angry
Only sorry for he.

For he,
For he is sometimes me.