Gold brick road, or splattered turd

 
its coming they say
it will be soon
just you wait and see
and Henny Penny scrambles by

there is no rhythm or rhyme
there is nothing remotely sublime
about being a beggar
on a street of plenty

fame and fortune don't come
rolling down the avenue
singing their joy of achievement
touching everyone with their wealth

they just pass by
without making eye contact
kiss trump and caress gates
linger and then kicked job afterwards but...hey

and I exist here with a few coins
playing hop scotch on the sidewalks
avoiding cracks and cat shit
waiting for my turn

on the carousel.