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