There's the guy
at the grocery store
with one good arm
and another arm
ending at the elbow
with a tiny, crippled hand
that pushes carts as
the doors slide closed.
 
There's the guy
who wails
with a voice like
Aretha Franklin
walking around,
dragging his leg
behind all the streets
there are in town.
 
There's the guy
at the laundromat
every day with
bags and bags and
when he out run
of bags  to wash
he sits on the curb until
his clothes are dirty again.
 
There's the guy
leaning on the
counter at gas station
playing scratch-offs.
When he wins
he buys more tickets
and when he loses
he buys some more.
 
There's the guy
who wears the
orange fall-out suit.
Some think it was
Vietnam while others
think it's because
he believes UFOs
can’t see orange.
 
And then there are 
the people
around town
that don't do
much of anything
except stroll
right on by
me
and my people.

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