I looked at the beggarman Wrapped in a bundle Of cardboard, rags and dirt, With a royal smirk on his face As his eyes pierced mine For the second or less It took to wander by His space of rest, His makeshift nest Of cardboard, rags and dirt...
Today he laid On his side, Knees slightly bent, A blue Bic gripped loosely In his right fist, Notepad white In his right...
What does a beggarman write From his sanctuary Of cardboard, rags and dirt, I wondered?
Could it be a sign, A plea for a penny Or a piece of bread?
Or was the beggarman A thespian well-read With a tale or two Trapped in his troubled head....
As he was, In his bastille Of cardboard, rags and dirt...
A Danielle Steele Undiscovered....
An Amiri Baraka Reborn...
A literary genius trapped In a bundle Of cardboard, rags and dirt With a royal smirk on his face.