Standing at the corner
not the first of the twilight mourners
face down hunched away
I watch your misty coat swish and sway

Boney finger crooked beckoning here
rasping hither, hither do not fear
ashen lips cracked in a sneer
at passersby stopped to leer
whispering loudly, wet in my ear
Take care, Beware, do not go further near

Yet I sit silent still when you do, on
the curb
listlessly watching as if they can't be heard
the prophetic truths— broken bread gossip
shared, between us and the styrofoam cup
flaking at the top, filled with a few dimes
from soulful songs, twisty smile, and hard times.

© Fae Hilscher