As I walk to work,
squatting in the doorway
of a dusty store, that sells
things new and used. He's there.
With books, his greeting card a
square foot of cardboard,
I never read. Salt stains his
shirt, near his armpits and chest.
Broken burlap-colored nails
extend from fingerless gloves.
Rheumy eyes, lank hair,
head cocked he stares, skyward.
Singing hymns off key, his smile
that of a simple minded angel.
I always give him a dollar
like my grandfather gave to me.
Janet Caldwell
JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
Love,
Sage
extend from fingerless gloves.
Rheumy eyes, lank hair,
head cocked he stares, skyward.
great verse, Janet ...
Neat Write Nice of You To Give Simply Whence You're in Streets I Was 5 Months Nobody But Nobody Gives Flying Shit...
Most Who Read This (As Your Poem) Simply Think They You Are INFALLIBLE,i.e. Read The Every A D s Den-Huh!
TRASK...
Be always safe,
Karen
Jan
CJ
GOD BLESS YOU
Tony
Regis
Sandie Angel :o)