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I’m a metaphor, not a street person.
Metaphors are best found, rather than written.
Like me.
When you’re a metaphor
Or a street person, I suppose,
You come and go when you feel like it.
Like rain.
Like the unchanneled tenderness of rain.
Sometimes I go days not getting wet.
Then, sometimes, three days in a row.
Street people weren’t always.
And have stories of their own that mean something to them.
Not me, maybe.
But, if I’d paid my dues ….
Sometimes wet. Sometimes dry. Sometimes filled. Sometimes hungry.
Sometimes warm. Sometimes cold.
If I were free of time I’d find a way to pay the dues. For me, or for them.