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.
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