A man is out cold on the footpath;
arms, legs splayed limp as shirt-sleeves;
fly open, penis bare;
unkempt, ill-fitting clothes,
dirty and worn.
Passers-by glimpse,
grimace momentarily;
distract themselves urgently
with a fireworks of alternative thoughts,
erase the scene.
It’s nice to stop off in Starbucks,
settle in cosy,
let the stresses of the day drain away.
There’s something nest-like about it,
among the office-workers, students, shoppers.
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