He chews and spits...
Chews and spits...
Tobacco stains sidewalk
As feet shuffle along, kick rocks
And bump mindlessly into passers-by
Because they smell him, they pretend
Not to see him, and he knows...
So brushing past doesn't seem as
Impolite as it really is--
It's all he can do to get a touch
A reminder that he is real;
More than his routine
As he chews, spits, shuffles, kicks and bumps...
Staining pavement along his way
1 comment:
Must you make me feel everything you write? Must I be moved each time you put pen to paper?
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