Crows down in the park by the beach are eating McDonalds for breakfast. The dark hobo waves— just off the crib of a passing freight— to the curly haired boy/man with the dark rims framing white, soft face who walks by. This guy plays a part in the object obsession, sees the hobo and doesn't know what to do because the hobo is a regular bull artist—looks into eyes, says good morning and rambles on and on, so eyeglasses just flashes him the peace sign! and the hobo is gone—joins the crows to have some time with what remains. Forget about the poem you were writing in your head when you first saw them. They're Scavengers.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 10:25 AM UTC
Crows down in the park by the beach are eating McDonalds for breakfast. The dark hobo waves— just off the crib of a passing freight— to the curly haired boy/man with the dark rims framing white, soft face who walks by. This guy plays a part in the object obsession, sees the hobo and doesn't know what to do because the hobo is a regular bull artist—looks into eyes, says good morning and rambles on and on, so eyeglasses just flashes him the peace sign! and the hobo is gone—joins the crows to have some time with what remains. Forget about the poem you were writing in your head when you first saw them. They're Scavengers.
© Nisa West