HENRY WOOLF AT NINETY
He had always been
a secret agent man,
or so it seemed,
that it had ever been,
that it never began,
He just always was:
the secret agent man.
He worked from the inside,
Doing what the insiders did.
But we always knew
that he had been hid,
one of a select few,
placed inside so as to…
‘So as to’ … what?
‘So as to … who?
That’s what none of us knew.
Who was his handler?
What was he supposed to do?
He is the secret agent man
who knows things we do not know.
But where is his code,
or his invisible ink?
And what is his link
to that outside world
that signals him, telling him
what to do, where to go,
and tells him more about us,
than we ourselves know.
© Gerald Seniuk
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