The Shoe Shine Man
His music is our blurred refrain--musing the rain
A breath exposed, and the shoe shine man looks down.
His feet are naked, full to eyes open spilling the pain
A hand touches her, and the shoe shine man looks down.
Our folks are pale skinned, reaping the wages
A butterfly dances on hairlines so pretty.
Her fingertips are nice, easy to love in ancient sages.
And the shoe shine man whispers his deity.
Hard steps, one on one, thumb on thumb
Suits a-shining, a bride now morning pining.
The shoe shine man just works in evening dumb.
A groom dies easy with cheap coffin lining.
A soft rain now greedily walks away
His mountains are plain, not hard to touch.
Her feet so tickled, fickled, love they say.
Shoe shine man gives much--catches much.
© 2017 Kenneth Avery