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King of Scotland

King of Scotland
The Armani tie barking angry rebukes
At the crumpled man tucked under the bridge
Wrapped as a king on this beautiful morning
In a tattered and torn old red sleeping bag
The king’s mind roars and rebels at disconnected chains
Of old marmalade and love on Sunday mornings
And rusty bolts dripping sewer under the trestle
Below the Madison bridge where he now stays
The suit squinting jabbing wrathful elbowed jeers
Loud bellowing barks echoed sneering shards
To the unkempt filthy little trench coat man
Who searches for the diamond in an ocean of stars
See him trembling down in the dark blue dumpster
On most Thursdays in the early overcast afternoon at two
In the alley at Third and Main behind the Dragon Moon
For crumpled cardboard cartons of dripping noodles and soup
Her filthy hanky a tourniquet on his thrice stitched loop
A sunny gift she left behind on that last beautiful day
Rested on the right shoulder of his coat where her head once laid
Is now his sad emblem on a dislocated snotty tearful way
Yet the man in Gucci shoes, Armani tie, and neatly pressed suit
Jack hammers his jutting pointed fisted index finger
Giving specific scornful stout forgetful directions
Toward the King of Scotland now caped fast in his sleeping bag
(c) 2015-2022 Ron McFarland, All Rights Reserved
Published inPoetry