Morning Walk

I was on my morning route,

Grooving, jogging, watching folks go about,

It was cold, not freezing but enough to make me wish I had an extra coat,

A glove, a necessity in this boat,

There wasn’t anything new,

Well-dressed gentlemen rushing to catch the town-bound bus,

A lady strutting with a fur-fitted purse,

And kids rushing to Miss Dina’s class,

It all seemed typical but for a detail,

An old man crouching in a ditch,

He was dirty, malnourished, and weak,

And everyone skirted him,

He seemed riled up at first,

Throwing insults and profanity,

But all of this intertwined,

With some sort of lengthy monologue,

Twas strange what I saw and I deepened my gaze,

Because now I could sense that my mind was amazed,

He would bubble up at first with the insult barrages,

Then somber up at length with the monologue charges,

I was getting closer to him so I feigned ignorance,

But I kept looking on like a hawk as I passed,

I saw something dark on the arm of this man,

An inscription or tattoo or some gibberish maybe,

I couldn’t make it all out without raising suspicion,

But part of it read,

Want.. People.. Know.. Meant.. Something,

I couldn’t make it out so I proceeded to my house,

But up to this day, I wonder what the words could be

My Psycho Bubble