My shoes are loose
the latch is bust
leather’s puckered—
still good enough
musty, dusty
water damaged
rings of rusting
‘round the edges
I drag ‘em by my kneecaps
sweaty leather shore get heavy
the sole flaps, claps on the
bricks and concrete
I sit by the street lamps
begging bread from strangers
coins get heavy when I hold em
put my coppers in my booties
I keep my loot inside my shoesies
I trust em more than pocket holeses
‘sides I spend it 'fore folks knows I has it
Before the sun goes down on Brookline
It’s danger town when sun goes down
I take the bus line down to Copley
I find my bench inside the square
when p’lice stop 'trolling, I sleep out there
Under the moony
When the big clock tolls 7
I know it’s morning
I check to see if I’m still here
pull the papers off my face
stuff my trash bag in my knapsack
and think about ma breakfast
I wash out by the docks
then I meet the Polish lady
who feeds the ducks
where Mother Goose is buried
she always gives me bunny bread
and on weekends, if I’m lucky,
I get peanuts at the farmer’s market—
and whatever’s dropped, too bruised, or moldy
People wonder why I don’t go down to Flord-y
They say it’s better wet'r for a panhandlin'-daddy
but I’m like the green stuff on a copper cladding
I’m part of the city
Like the rust on rails,
or padlocks on fences
I’m the sleeper on the subway benches
I’m the reason for Hobo’s Lullaby
I’m the conscience naggin' the white shirt/black tie
I’m the reason the church keeps open
I’m the tired, poor, and huddled masses
I’m the reason people count their blessings
