FIST - the musical

Graduated –
from private failure
to public nuisance.
Imploring each passer by,
to dip tanned palms
into pockets lined,
incredulous success on the march.
To and fro,
from cozy corners of a world,
I have never known -
lazily drifting
past the ever-changing focus of life.
You see…
when people like me…
well, we’ve had all the bad things happen…
and when the good finally comes
it seems so much better.

So,
for scraps off your table,
I’ll warble the myth,
compassionate embraces
from my fellow citizen.
In this little place
full of big adventures
I’ll clench stiff digits
about well-plucked chords,
in lies and trade,
my meandering soul
for a cheeseburger…
or coffee…
gin poured in kind,
from brown papered sympathy
between teeth yellowing
on the butts cast downward
from your glittering lips,
and drink in the moment –
or two,
of what it must feel like
to dance merrily obtuse
about metropolitan streets
instead of banging
this tired worn fist;
cracked chalky remains,
beaten into cold
wet,
unfeeling
pavement.

@Nick Zegarac 2006 (all rights reserved).