I thought a lot this morning,
about a picture I wanted to take,
This guy I see every day,
who is more like a down and out,
But with sure sharp accentuated
looks, that a majority don't have,
All my ideas about dressing him
up and he reappearing well groomed,
It transformed everything I had
ever thought possible for someone
else, and a stranger with little strength,
I saw his, if anything in that moment,
not my own, or at least that's what I
wanted it to amount to,
But you might just say - well, technically
your just after another picture, and I am...
But I could pay him, I thought, a decent amount,
give him that Italian coat I bought, make
him shave and put some more hope in those
huge misted eyes,
Real poetry should learn to act,
As I tear the idea up again,
with the tear up words!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem