A Poet At the Mall

A poet at the Mall. At the mall, yes we have one near Faro, I met a poet. The mall is nicely built and has two bell towers. From a time to time, they chime to remind us why we are here not sit on a bench in its courtyard looking up to the sky seeing mind-blowing cumulus configurations. The poet I met had a white beard, wore a black old suit, a tie with red wine spots on, a black beret that whiffed of garlic...I think. You could see he wasn’t really there His eyes scanning the ground he bent down picking up half - smoked butts of cigarettes. Ok, so he was poor, so what? Haven’t you heard of a poor poet before? They are not all idle sons of the rich and with university degrees in literature. A notebook in his side pocket and two pencils in his breast pocket; so he was a poet ok.