Slouching down the street
drinking shrapnel jangling
rough rolled cigarette smouldering.
Sun’s blinding like a flare
shadow loiters behind me,
I feel like I’m aging in dog years
panting, looking for shade,
when I just want to jump pavement cracks
fall and laugh and feel young.
But as I look down
I pretend not to care where I tread
focusing anywhere but the here and now so.
I don’t hear the tune of the coins in my pocket.
I don’t see the patterns forming in the clouds.
I don’t see the words dancing with the litter in the breeze.
I don’t see the poem stalking me from my shadow.

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