Far from easy street
Living on the wrong side of the street
I stare with care and mighty depth.
If I thought of Defoe and imagined Man Friday,
He would surely be the image of you.
Your hair dirty full of tangles but maybe that’s OK.
Plastic bags adorn each ankle like flags on a pole.
I’ve seen you rise like a serpent,
Escaping the clutches of the Ocean,
Adorned with a magenta sach.
Have you breached the line of insanity?
Maybe it’s me, so hard to figure you…
You leave me mystified as to how you survive.
I have never witnessed your cry,
Nor begging bowl to harness a coin,
No reason to reason, there must be one?
My heart reaches but not far enough,
Yet doing nothing haunts my space.
I would guess sorrow is far from your style,
What should I do? What can I do?
I am bereft for both words and direction.
How will you live for tomorrow?