The starers and watchers,
Constantly crossing your path,
With nothing to do but view you
With something approaching contempt;
Without irony in them or satirical jibe passing by;
Strangers exchanging a
Split second’s aim and instantly
Thinking of labels to place on each
Other, and pigeon holes to stuff them in,
And suffer their vision no longer than necessary.
Only yesterday a small
Street wretch fetched up in
Front of me and refused to move,
And when I placed a guiding hand above
His head in order to ward him I was accused of abuse.
Suffice to say the charge
Came from another couple of
Pint sized gawkers, a street away,
Who saw exactly what they wanted to,
And have probably practiced this on folk before,
But my case is rested that
We all are attested to the truth
Of others and the uselessness of intervals,
But I come at it from the position of a witness
Too and have seen all sides of this avarice in action.
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