The Tin Can Man Poem by Jim Milks

Standing in a crowd I hear a sound.
A strange little sound that is both quiet and quite loud
The crowd parts like the Red Sea
and before me I can see.
Slipping past the bourgeoisie enters the Tin Can Man.
His carriage a potpourri of junk,
his body a menagerie
The creaking of the cans fills the air the sound reminiscent
Of a tree in the wind it limbs laid bare
And though it may seem crude
from his body loneliness does exude.
His dirty face and matted hair leads me to despair
Slowly through this whole affair I am made aware
That once he was a millionaire

5/9/07