Berkeley Politics
The pennies from my pocket
Fall
And turn into the ash in
The cracks along some sidewalk
I have never walked on
In daylight I reflect upon the disappearance
And count on cut out fingers
All the days I spent looking for the copper bits
But
Sometimes when the moon in the mind
Reflects some of the darkness
I only shed light
On the depression of their absence
The reason I am looking
For these few and far pieces
Is to pay the price
Of another man’s ruined glory
To pay the hobo
Leaning on the corner streetlight
He was once the politician
Hoping for change
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