The Next Stop

THE NEXT STOP

 

The man has a face like a frog

Squashed by a falling log

He has stubble halfway to a beard

He’s really rather weird

 

His trousers rise too high

Over his bulging belly

And yet he tugs them up

I think he might be smelly

 

He stares with a frowning look

A grump on the edge of complaint

He staggers a bit getting off

His jacket’s smeared with old paint

 

Kids probably shout things at him

He probably struggles with soap

What was he like, that young man

Who started with health and with hope?

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