he was a worn out man,
worn out by a war that never have ought to have been,
worn out by the weathering of winter cold and summer heat,
worn out by the wages of sin,
some of it, self-inflicted,
some of it, simply come upon in the come-upon places of life.
he was a worn out man in worn out clothes
barely living in a worn out part of town.
begging nickels from the passers-by
to trade for day old bread and leftover pie,
to sleep one more night on a surplus cot
beneath the light of a worn out mission cross.
he was a worn out man, a depreciated man
a street vendor with nothing much left to sell,
just a two tooth smile and a tip of a worn out hat,
and a few muttered words of thanks.
all sold out, yes, all sold out,
this worn out man in his worn out shoes
all sold out with not much else to do.
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