Bearing the weight of the rags on his back
His feet dirty and calloused
His face wild like fire
I see him --
in mornings before the yacht club is up
in afternoons while the jet set loom overhead
at night when my fear and lonelinees ache for his
And I drive by.
I've wanted to stop --
to offer him socks for his feet
a sandwich to cure his pangs
an ear for a conversation
the cash I suddenly don't need
But I drive by.
My face strains in torment
A second or two and then lapses
And while I sleep in my bed at peace
There is a man who walks by the sea
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