NaPoWriMo #19: The Person

He was easy to recognize
with his two arms
and opposble thumbs.
It was said he wore
a coat when it was cold,
that mist formed
when he breathed out
winter, complaining
on a phone about its bite.
We couldn't look at
his heart, covered by skin
and muscles, an old symbol
of love's explanations.
We couldn't see into
his brain where symbols
piled up into car crashes,
forming a new wreckage
each time he spoke.
Whether there was
a soul was not for us
to ask:  we'd have
to decamp to the local
church, and they'd sing
a hymn about sin
and the overcoming
of it, while we smiled,
not sure what they
were talking about.
All we knew was he
moved around for years,
his hair falling out,
his teeth loosening,
and he never stopped
going, until the button
was pushed.  Then,
he was off.