Blue neon blinks; on off Watching reflections in soap-covered panes Of glass; One bench upon which is one old man wielding a cane with a gold head shaped like a lion. It drifts; the shadow, and the blue Enlightens a toothy smile and an over-elongated existence. Yellowed fingers pluck at the sky (where his beard used to hang) motions executed more for loss than for necessity drunks wrangle their erstwhile mates from inside dusky coves bitter, bitter; blink, blink, on off Picking at air Seemingly searching perhaps for some ancient scrap of food discarded long ago with the beard. The cane dips and sways under the blink on off Remembers itself when passers-by endanger its path, swings back to a comfortable holding pattern goes itself round and round rolls back into where there will be traffic Eroded is the foresty paint where his quivering shanks rest Grim is the countenance they bear night after night They let him stay he harms only himself and the sooner he dies the sooner they can be free of him.Birth sign: Aquarius
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