He sits on the corner near my house. His sign says
Poems on the spot
It's his way of panhandling
From his wheelchair
He's a strange man
I've tried for a long time
To break down those walls
Sitting with him
At the Salvation Army
His duct tape covered jacket
Has me asking the question
Why?
It's cheaper, he says, with a frown.
But I know where you can get new ones, free.
Last week he told me, the poem business
Isn't going all that well
Maybe he's losing his uniqueness
People are too blind to see
He's hurting deep inside
1 comment:
I like this thought it's sad to me
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