A Penny They Don't Have
He seemed to know,
All life beyond his nose.
Indeed, he was smart-
Smart enough to wear a shirt,
Pressed, yet stitched with holes.
He wore shoes,
With wooden soles,
Unpolished, laces loose,
Yet confident,
His head high, it rose.
His uncombed hair-
A thicket pried the sky,
A gentleman late for work,
Along the streets of Newark.
In the city's hustle,
Vehicles crawl and hoot,
Beep-beep, through crowded routes,
That bear no fruit.
Pockets weep in emptiness,
While wallets stink and reek,
Of sweat with no pay.
He sits, waits, sweeps,
In a shop his stage, customers play,
They bleat, he bleeds,
Pale and incomplete.
One laughs, another scoffs,
Believing him mad,
Greedy for a joke, he isn't-
For all, he's just an old man,
Cherishing the little,
They will never grasp.
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