This Week's Throwback

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There’s a man I watch while sitting upon my stoop

A beggar, a bum, I call him a snoop

Waiting in patience for you to dispose of your trash

Rifling through your garbage uncovering every last…

 

Bit of rejected information and morsel of rejected food

 

His teeth gnash in an animalistic way

Face paint made of soot turned grey

Tense muscles ready to flee

Death grips hands, in which the contents you’ll never see

 

A constant scowl broadcasts his unfriendly mood

 

I can’t imagine the steel gut digesting such scraps

It must be in the likeness of an acid tomb filled with rats

I watch and I learn the habits of a maniac

Once a sane man, thrown off track

 

His demeanor is now nothing but rude

 

The man I see, seems not to be, too far from who I am.  I don’t know if that makes me a wolf or him a man?