I watched him spin
the rain back to the clouds.
The front of his cap
hid his life face.
A mobile phone took
hold of his hand.
He carried his hat
up and down the road.
The rain lashed down
but he didn’t care.
All he thought about
was the doobie
that waited to be swapped
with the moolah
that was folded in his pocket.
I watched from a bus stop
listening to the rain break
itself up, while he waited
to fix it back up.
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