A Poem by Maxwell Ryder

Long drawn, bleary-eyed Rasputins
Walk up and down the street,
Sit outside cathedrals and churches,
Yawning at their lack of dreams,
Waiting for that coin-tossed clink
To wake them from a half-sleep -
What they wouldn't give for a
Piece of bread, a sandwich,
Or a nice warm drink, and
A park bench that isn't a bed!

Bags in hand, they take their change, bottles and cans, risk a public place where they can wash their hands, and if lucky enough, wash their face, before cops come settle public grimaces,
and tell them to push off the premises,
Go find another spot, probably a park,
Where they'll navigate dog s**t,
To share a cheap cherry vodka,
Bought and shared with their fellow
Itinerant man, before the police
Arrive to move them along again,
Give them a fine 30 days of
panhandling could never pay,
Because stomach and liver says,
We're addicted to our ways.

© 2017 Maxwell Ryder

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Added on September 11, 2017
Last Updated on September 11, 2017


Maxwell Ryder
Maxwell Ryder


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