Can you see the people moving?
Do you see them fighting?
Not with their arms and fists, stupid,
Rather with their minds and thoughts.
“Life is short and then you die”,
Thumps through a pair of headphones.
The owner isn’t smiling, rather scowling, or impasse.
I stay seated on my park bench,
And ignore the hobo, snoring his life to me.
Beside me on the park bench.
The hobo snores contently,
Onto the unassuming walkers,
A dreamy smile pasted on his lips.
So what if his content isn’t rational?
So what if he is happier with less?
Does that mean a thing?
Isn’t your life a mess?
The dog beside him licks his dirty nose,
And he wakes, serenely smiling.
He pats the dog, and plays with its ears,
And grabs for happiness, under the bench.
Its not long before he is snoring again,
His dogs’ head on his waste, glances at me,
And licks its joules.
The hobo is still snoring,
But I am walking into the distance,
With his dog and his drink!