STRAIGHT ON
No more the moving shadow, lining
the street with its image; now only the
real thing comes forth. The sideways
man is brushing his coat of crumbs.
He's a big fellow too - I watch as he
passes, moving along like a duffel. He
is eating that sloppy, big donut as he
walks along, to his church, a Broad
Street hideout, and the Newark wind
is rustling the flags. Still he walks
along, intent and jacket open, flying
out like wings. The crumbs get on his
collar, and he flicks them off.
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