I walk off the ache in these old bones
and smell the oranges hanging from
the trees.

early morning workers
talking in hushed whispers,
two cyclists that **** right by me
clearly
they're not bothered by me.

Coffee from a sleepy waiter?
no!
I think I'll see you later
and on my way I go.

Magic in the streetlights
that seem to glare at me,
perhaps my sight needs
readjusting, but
I think I'll wait and see.