Photograph: ©Copyright 2006 by John-Ward Leighton
CRANK POET
The crank poet dances in the alley
he walks the walk and talks the talk
and does his rap and twinkle toes
for an empty street and an audience of crows.
The homeless shiver in the cold
and the crank poet's rap for them is old,
and except for occasional passers-by
no one cares if he lives or dies.
I don't try to make any sense of it
and pass the poet like a ghost.
Perhaps it's the raw human drama and insanity
that I fear the most.
For our only true promise is the grave
there will be not one life we can save,
we'll be shivering in the street and before we know it
be raving for an audience of crows just like the
crank poet.