I'll peddle my poems on a busy street
right next to the hot dog cart
when the busy people come out to feed
I'll sit in the corner wearing a beret
and smoke clove cigarettes
waiting to catch the eye of a beatnik
or maybe a widow
looking for something sadder
to ease her sorrow.
I won't charge too much
I'll set a fair price
and with my jar of money
I'll buy some bubble gum
and a bright yellow
umbrella
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