from where i sit
i see a man with a black shirt
an old man, smoking his cigar
beside a hollow-block fence
wearing faded jeans
consistently smoking
perhaps killing time
brown shoes fresh with mud
by the road his back leaning
against a wall across my room
the cigar between his fingers
sleepy and not minding
a fat lady with flowery dress
passing by
he is under a mango tree
lush against the backdrop of
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