On his balcony
Past the sunrise’s loom
At just into 7:10am
He watches the world
And ponders against the cucumber chill
He eyes clean sweep the tar,
As his breath hugs the air
He is up before the rise
Like an artist that paints the sky
He is on patrol

On the pavement
His Weight lays the shadow over the surrounding
Even in the dark,
They pass him as he mulls over them
Knowing every face and its shape
He blankets their world
Like a lyrical aura
The words are soon forgot
Yet a tune never forgotten

As seasons that cannot be
Left in the attic
Their eyes play tricks
Of hangman with him
As the brights off their lights glare
His view is blinded
But thank goodness he is stands still
On the fast side of the highway
A flickering image to the passersby
The street dweller.
27 June 2013


This morning I saw a tramp standing on my driver’s side. Like a professor of the highway, he stood against the chill pondering at flickering images.


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