spitfire

One mans garbage.....

A brown bench,
sitting smoking a non-fliter, thinking nostalgicly,
james dean,brando, as I exhale. Smoke rolling down over the
black T-shirt and blue jeans.

I watch her somtimes,
mainly though I watch who watches her,
seening them undress her with they're eyes,
they contemplate the sacrifices they would make to know her,
to hold her,to walk with her,
thinking how dull they're lives really are,

This bombshell whos feet dont seem to touch the groud as
she strides through the masses. Is she an insperation to
them, a glimpse of hope or just a crewl reminder of where
they stand in the world.

I hear them talk, they say to me all the cli-shays,
if I had one wish,what I wouldnt do,in your shoes,
"lucky bastard"
I reply nothing though,what is there to be said?
except mabe:
"When I kiss her I feel nothing"

with love and respect
spitfire