Beneath the city skyline
is where the real magic happens.
Near the gutter in a bright slime green
where the clutter creates a harrowing scene
and every vagrant’s eyes gleam
as if they caught on to wonders unseen
by the rest of us,
the best of us,
wearing clean clothes and tie our own shoes
while we keep on the sidewalk with baggage to lose.
As if we really do have something to prove
when we look down on people consumed by booze,
but it’s just an excuse,
and our screws are coming loose
whether we like it or not.
It’s par for the plot.