Street Furniture

The desperate young man
and his miniature pit bull  
ribs screaming from a bad dose of  worms
are rudely camped  
on a filthy red sleeping bag
right out front  
at my local store
 
All of 18,  
he can barely spawn stubble
huddling lame and puny enough  
for me to wonder  
if I might whack both boy and dog
extremely hard in the balls  
and still outrun the consequences
of such action  
 
It's early,  
but the kid's already hard at work
whining his mantra for change
as he sizes up the stream of dumb old ladies
all not quite sure if it's safe to reach down  
and pat the mutt  
who stares up looking bored
a fortune in those rueful brown eyes
 
They tut and then pause
before that magic  
little fumble in the purse
and  
chink, chink, chink
 
Things have gone far enough
so I decide on the direct approach
 
'Look' I say,  
leaning both my crutches  
carefully against the wall
'This is my pitch  
and I've been furniture here  
for years...
 
chink, chink, chink
 
'Our neighborhood sets standards  
we are honor bound to maintain
or before we know it  
there'll be more and more  
dysfunctional kids like you
maybe riots, looting...  
why, even dog shit on the lawns'

chink, chink, chink
 
I reach inside my pocket
and hand over a crisp new bill
 
'Goodbye and good luck', I say
'Nothing personal, of course,
but I'm certain your face wont fit
just don't let me see it again.'