I feel the rhythm of the sound from the street.
I look towards the corner and a guy's playing a beat.
I stare at his clothes that have been torn and riped
At his hair that is tarnished and dirty and stripped.
His limbs that are skinny and look just like sticks
And his ribs and his face and his over-chapped lips.
The hat on the ground has few to no coins
And a pain in my chest festers and foins.
I glance at my shoes that are polished and shiny
And I peek at my cloak and sense the wind right behind me.
I trek towards the corner and I take off my coat
And the wind that surrounds me is bitter and cold
I hand him my jacket and help him put it on
And I give him a quid and say, "You can go on."
YOU ARE READING
Sounds of a Fish Attempting to Scale a Skyscraper
Poezja*Finished - first anthology in the Skyscrapers series* Hold fast onto life For it soon slips by. Find the things you love And hold onto them tight. But not too tight, For sometimes they leave Or find something more interesting To shove up their sle...
