We are unwanted,
We are unloved,
We are forgotten,
We are the given up on,
We are the lost teddy bears,
We are the abandoned pups,
We are the left behind,
The left out in winter,
The mad prophets,
The ladies who eat cats,
We are freakish,
The dropped on our heads,
We ourselves know not why,
But we are unwanted,
And for good reason.
Dust settles,
I’m out,
Of this El Dorado,
I fear I never learned the rules,
Of rather never heeded them,
Alas I speak not of baseball,
But of a home,
Knapsack at the ready,
Full of filthy guilt,
My human mistakes,
Was it my unwieldy and sickly countenance?
Did I spend too much time in my head?
My unkempt den?
My friends in the night?
Strikes one and two,
This haven,
Of Bavarian design,
Strike three is called,
And I’m out of here,
The sidewalk beckons.
I love this city,
I walk it day and night,
The streets are a banquet of sight and sound,
I wouldn’t change them for anything,
Though they be as grungy as my longcoat,
A bedlam of suit and tie ants,
A compost heap of taxes and bills,
Seething like a corpse,
With all the magic and horror,
That mankind can muster,
So I aimlessly frolick,
Amongst these concrete orchards,
Full of silicon souls,
And hollow men,
They avoid my kind gaze,
I didn’t long for this life,
This squalid existence,
It was a sour gift,
From the louts at the bank,
These fingerless gloves weren’t outstretched,
But a mans got to eat,
Back to work,
So I raise my wooden banner,
“Will work for food”,
A grimy tear falls.
WorldofHarley 