Bum on a bridge

From my little patch of the American dream
I watch them all roll by.
I do not envy them
Wrapped up in their little bubbles
Scurrying here and there
Likes ants to sugar.

Some look but most do not
And when they do
It is with pity
You have it wrong my friends
You are the ones to be pitied.
Your lives are lived by rules
Rules not of your making
Little bells and whistles
Beckon you here and there
To destinations and appointments
That lead to nowhere

My life is simple
I walk with my head down
Eyes averted
Wits intact
I am all but forgotten
In a world that has no soul

(C) 2008, Tim Prendeville


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