The Vagabond's Eyes

A poem, based on a personal observation in Argentina, on inequality.

He wound his way through the fog, sliding his dingy fingers down the glass,

Their eyes locked, both equal yet separated, merely by class.

The man, with his slick jet-black hair, sat warmly on his leather, watching him in disdain,

As the boy pleaded softly, soaked in the rain.

The man's eyes, soft, beady, pampered, twinkled in the warmth to the sound of Lizst,

While the boy's would soon drown, when faced with a fist.

The vehicles honked and honked under those rumbling October skies,

As carlights flickered in the vagabond's begging eyes.

His throat sputtered in the cold, and his body began to shiver,

While secretly in his head, he prayed this one would be a giver,=.

The green light flickered on; the car disappeared into the night,

The boy, restless, tired, and wet, continued with his plight.

He prayed that that night, another coin he would find,

as he lamented the man, who was not bad, just blind.

Author's Note

Always welcome to any suggestions!

Reviews

[Star Wolf]

I like this, very sad yet a so real in so many places in the world.

[Franklin...]

Well-worded and descriptive, this also does a good job of illustrating some of the psychology involved in this sort of situation. Top marks.

[TalkingMushrooms]

BEAUTIFUL !
This is stunning . :)
I really enjoyed reading this piece .
I like your collaboration of words
intertwined with the emotions .
I was able to feel what the boy was feeling ,
as well as visually seeing the pictures you
have painted in my mind with your words .

I'm subbing you ! :D
I'm expecting more beautiful work :)