He walked from the corner
having left a large part
of his interrupted lung
laying on the curb.

"They were stocky bastards,
the whole lot of em.
There's this bus you see and it
picks you up at that hotel. They get you
on there, see? And they take you
300 miles just to stick 20 complementary
dollars in their f***in slots.
Not me, man, not me.
I sat on that damn stool for 3 hours.
Then they made me get out cause
I was reading a book! I ain't
a Nazi man!"

He came to another curb and fell
silent,
listening for the rubber to
roll over his body as he crossed
the street. He had to concentrate
on the light in front of him,
flying in on the beacon.

His muddy boot hit another
puddle of slush, soaking up into
his rubbers as he stretched
on to the curb.

"That's why I wear the bags in my
boots, man. Keeps the tootsies dry."

A county prowler came around the
corner, flashing a large halogen onto
the man in army surplus standard.

He waited, focusing on the gutter grate
his hand on his lapel
a handle keeping his
insides straight.

"F***in' pigs! Don't do anything
but warm their fat butts on large stools
and pinch waitress ass! How ya like this ass, man!"

The man dropped his pants
and gave two weathered cheeks
to the cities finest.

"You can suck a fart out a' the
left one! Sons of bitches!"

He drew up his pants and fastened
them with a paper clip then headed
around the capital.

I put out my smoke on the side
of the building,
knocking out the last
of the ash
went in from my break.

At least that bastard had the
day off.