Walking Home.

I was walking down the station road,
and I saw a kite-string in the dirt.
Discard, unwanted- "Sort of like me,"
I thought and picked it up. I could
see the boy who'd lost a kite to
another.

"It must be all the drugs." I said
and threw the kite string away and
started walking again.

Further down, I saw a dirty poster
torn from the compound wall.
A fat lady on it, smiling what she
thought was a sexy smile.
Lots of cleavage and a little stache
crowning her lips.

"Fuck!" I said and tossed it aside.
Neither the fatness nor the failed
sexy smile bothered me. But the
stache was where I drew the line.

Even further down the road,
very conveniently placed to get my
attention, was a notebook. It was
probably tossed aside by someone
who I thought had better things
to do than write.

So I picked it up and wrote this
poem in it. On reading it again
I thought, "This is crap! I should
stop picking up so much rubbish
on my way back home!"