Sao Paulo Crack

 

by Frank Thomas Smith

 

                                            The cracked-up kid,

a dark reflection of man,

stands beneath the traffic light,

which pulses to amber, then red.

 

The first wave of cars darts past,

then the smoking buses that never stop

for red.

We of the second wave brake and halt,

reluctantly,

headlights averted,

eyes straight ahead,

hooded, inverted.

 

The snot-nosed kid

limps from car to closed car,

asking for "something"

with pleading hand and eyes.

 

I look behind him cautiously

for sometime collaborators

before opening the window a crack,

careful to avoid his grimy hand,

scarred, alive with germs,

and hand him some coins, like sand.

 

The traffic light turns green and the pack

guns forward – I lean smirking back,      

The only one to open the window a crack.

The one and only one

to open the window a crack.

 

We gun forward and I lean smirking back,      

The only one to open his window a crack.


A selection of poems by this author is available as an Amazon Kindle eBook


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