men, poetry

Crossed Legs

Crossed legs

Fixed expression

‘Any spare change?’

Glittering stubble and rotten apple cheeks

Invisible and camouflaged in pavement colour

Street textures

Of course he has a can by his side

Wouldn’t you take anything to

Hide from the hard surfaces

Sharp edges and yet he is there

I don’t have any change

Too busy running to stay in place

To accumulate coins

And we are all one bad day

From sitting down

Crossed legs

Fixed expression

‘Any spare change?’

But desperation

Hardens and focuses a man

Like in romantic comedies

Except you’re stalking life

Thinking it is mutable

And you are not

Maybe he sat down because

He figured out

It is the other way

Around

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