Stepping over drunkards who sang their psalms into the cracks
that fell through sidewalks, (he talks with spirits)
I settled in the corner seat on the high street deli’
which sells salt beef on rye
and watched the world go by as one is wont to do.
An hour or two and the council cleaning crew
did what they do, but it looked the same to me,
I ordered peppermint tea.
‘way to go’
the hobo screamed,
and it was Sunday
a day for evangelising
a day for setting lies in
© 2019, John Smallshaw.