My Curb

I take a spot in the back of the line

This seedy bar, these seedy times

I look like a trucker after a long haul

A running back who dropped the ball

It’s the way I feel when you look past me

It’s the hurt of loathing that makes me flee

It’s the leprous syndrome you place on me

It’s what makes my gut turn inside of me

    Skip me over

    Pass me up

    Take my carcass to the dump

    Watch me shiver

    See my grit

    Throw me in the deepest pit

I wake beside my concrete curb

Hardened gum spells do not disturb

I must seem like a stammering slobbering fool

A rejected jester in a pile of drool

What I wouldn’t give to have a bed

A place to rest my weary head

Where I am seen and I am heard

Where I exist in every world

    Skip me over

    Pass me up

    Take my carcass to the dump

    Watch me shiver

    See my grit

    Throw me in the deepest pit

I eat outside the shelter door

Not a sneer original

Not a mocking stabbing curse

I haven’t heard to tell my worth

The hope is fake, the hope is nigh

It isn’t hope that gets me high

Hope is what you think you provide

When you pander to your giving side

    So skip me over

    Pass me up

    Take my carcass to the dump

    Watch me shiver

    See my grit

    Throw me in the deepest pit

I sleep beside my lonely curb

I mumble my unmeaningful blurb

I take the handouts every one

I’ve placed myself beneath your shun

I am a man without a home

A restless wandering forgotten soul

A grubby dirty cursed word

Growing fond of my very own curb

By Royce Waxenfelter

8/1/23