Homeless
Bread in his fist
is dinner for two
under the bridge
away from the new
cars that preen by him
stopping once in a while
to furtively butter
his fist with a pile
of cash that is spare change
they fork it into his spoon
of need and neglect
while he hopes to soon
trade his spoon for a knife
to cut into bite size
his underdone life.
this is great, annette!
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