Grim Encounter

On an early morning walk,
Adjacent to the river,
I passed a hooded figure
That elicited a shiver.

He, or she, sat on a bench –
I only saw his back –
Yet New York sensors in my brain
Said, “Something’s out of whack.”

The day was hot and humid,
Even at that early hour,
So seeing a black sweatshirt
Made my inner wuss just cower.

He looked like Death, seen from behind,
I noticed with alarm;
And in my paranoia,
I felt he exuded harm.

I passed him both ways on my walk,
Both going and returning;
He hadn’t budged, though part of me
Wished that his head was turning.

For curiosity cropped up.
I yearned to see his face;
But thinking that he might well turn,
I hurried up my pace.

It’s sometimes better, as they say,
For sleeping dogs to lie,
And so I heeded that advice
And simply walked on by.