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A Bum In the Alley
I watched him from the corner of my eye,
Inching his way to and fro with a heavy sigh.
Clenching his teeth in a fist curled ‘round a jaw,
Square in the stench of that which we both saw.
For he slithered towards a dumpster in a lot,
Of parked cars he could not afford to have bought.
And with a light of a Bic pulled from his coat,
He ignited sight from the flicker of the flame which floats,
From the butane fluid which a spark invokes,
The puff of a stick whose toke is toxic smoke.
When he reached the garbage which within had settled,
He relieved the box of the lid which locked its metal.
Aye, another man’s trash is another’s treasure,
For that which one has, whom another lacks, is pleasure.
Then he reached within the depths of the disgrace of what’s been discarded,
Into this wastebin full of rubbish made of that which has been disregarded.
For it’s clear within the eyes of this bum that something’s worth,
A rummage in the trash to have a chance on Earth, as if by rebirth.
But when I saw what he had sought had found,
My applause had turned into disgrace unbound.
For he plucked a butt of a used cigarette from within the trash,
And eyed it ‘fore he lit it as if he found a million in the greenest cash.
Looking closer I also saw that he may also have found a mirror,
For when I saw his eyes I saw that they were mine, but only clearer.
Copyright ©
B. Joseph Fitzsimons
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