i see a cart, a load of sand
i see a hardtop, over the rubber bands
a man puffing pride, straightens his tie
a man resting in sweats, unable to stand
too hard to live, too soft to die
 
    
i watch them stare and look away
unable still, to battle my gaze
ragged to the bare but trouble is fair
looks at the gold time with eyes of rage
never a stain, never a tear
    
along comes a passer by
whistling a tune, lips dry
extends to both, each of his hand
curiosity stops blinking the eyes
of this stranger in his own land
     
i see my self clinging to a tree
old it is, but i’ve failed to see
i find myself in a losing fight,
against my fragility facing me
with its strengh, in this woeful plight.