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At the corner of Guerrero and Duboce
Not in the city of angels A man of indeterminate age Outside a city-worn Kentucky Fried Chicken Pants, jacket, wooly cap living-on-the-street crusted and gray A small suitcase knee high, one wheel broken Rests at his feet as he stands, legs in perfect symmetry He extends his arms high and wide In a dance of morning awakening At the end of his long arms, hands outstretched A pantomime of winged birds Long delicate fingers reaching as high as they can go Tips touching the blue sky He stands in an ecstasy of luxury, then Sits back down beside his suitcase And waits |
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