on the street corner,
there are three vendors and space
small enough for the passerby,
wide enough to fit the vendors vision
of a better sale
I walk, head held high
shoulders square,
I am a glider, I don't need an engine
yet I bump into my own shadow
on the street corner,
beyond the seller's strawberry induced cart
sweet talkers hang their words on hook
throw them for the nearest fish in town
over the paved sidewalk, we meet
you ring into my ear, laughter
there's a tomorrow on your tongue
there's a yesterday on mine
we part with the seller's voice
promising a decrease of strawberry's prices
for the end of the day brings sweetness
condensed for less
I will be someone else,
with a heart the size of the Atlantic
and patience, smaller than the devil's to trouble
yet somehow I refuse to believe you
I have heard your words in a crystal ball
round like your belly, a couple of years ago.
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