The Carters

Where are you headed Friend?
Pushing that thing
Holding your precious strange cache
Night proved a damp one
The kind you must hate
Hiding yourself and your stash.
You see it all each day
Good haps and bad
Wisdom obtained on the race
Sunshine and blasting
They wear you right down
Shows in the marks on your face.
Women are at this too
Sad 'tis to say
Muttering their simplest of song
Eyes cast to sidewalk
In dreams of the past
Constables urge "Move along"
Reason is fleeting
But "Carters" deny
Anything wrong in the head
This their profession
To just make it through
Many a Friend ends up dead.
Should be a job
Or a service to give
Sidewalk no place for a soul
Daily their task
Just to live and let live
Folk stare and judge, hale and whole.

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