Passersby

Some are strutting; others drag,
Promenade or amble,
Every one a puzzle
We’re unable to unscramble.

Some look cocky, others sad,
Lost in their reflections,
Heading off, in head and foot,
In varying directions.

Some are spiffy, others drab,
Yet a first impression
Isn’t quite enough to gauge
Contentment or depression.

In the city, passersby
Cross paths but what we see
Will not provide the clues to solve
Each private mystery.