Average (of) Annandale

Apparent in the amiable
extension of a joke,
Annandale will shake your hand
and then begin to blend.
Excuses self from spoken depths,
and exits every dialogue;
never with a sense of stay,
but never with a sense of go.
Annandale's empowering
sense of overwhelming self, at least,
may throw off one's true depth perceived,
at least, in terms of Annandale.
For average he, not brick in color;
though stuck to walls like mewling vines,
cannot see, though may discover
a taste for salt that follows rejection.
All it takes is a boisterous caw,
and enough to make his head feel stew;
the man aloft on wicker water -
too far beyond to fear the coldest of their shoulders.

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