HARD AT WORK

Another cigarette

Crushed

Like sudden death.

Already,

An hour has passed.

The whole pack

Is almost

KAPUT.

This poem is a bitch...

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THE QUINTESSENTIAL STREET POET

For one to wear with honor the hat

Of STREET POET

The requirements are --

Live under a cheap roof, or, if lucky,

One for free.

Work at menial jobs if at all.

Drink cheap beer, or anything

For nothing.

Buy clothes even shoes

At the Salvation Army.

Can't own a motor car.

No bank accounts.

The hard-core throw their televisions

Out the window.

It's ok to have a radio.

Street poets don't allow lovers

And others

To clutter their space.

They don't hang around politicians

Or the police.

When they die,

Most likely their poetry dies too.

The quintessential street poet

Lives

In the street.

Doesn't write poetry.

Poetry what they is.