How Do You Not Imagine The Secret, Inner Workings of Bums?

How do you not imagine
the secret, inner workings of bums?

Their subterfuge and shifting
checkerboard alliances,

turf disputes

and all the usual internal drama
of any group slowly dying.

It busts your ass to smile and dance for a day

and to get, most often,
some withering disregard
of some snivelling
snot of an adult–

man babies with fat rolls
and foolish notions
of how high socks should go.

Hold onto the curses meant for the cashiers
and for the simple, pitiless stares
that blanket bank doors

and bar smokers
enjoying a beer
but got nothin for ya,
bro.

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