destitute.

Vagaries and vagrancy attracts no fame,

intoned by many in speech as a word game.
Poor me, on the isolated street walkways I stride,
head bent; in tatters with no pride.

arm-stretched I beg,
to casual onlookers I'm just vague;
some stare at me in total spite,
my future frazzled never to be great.
With my wreked frame I walk in anger,
eaten nothing, my belly bites with hunger.

So from a vendor I snatch a fruit,
to bribe hunger that's so brute
but then,
every stool pigeon picks a stone-
these stooges for the rich,
our normal street rules they breach.
With my frail steps I have to run,
but with an affirmation that my end has begun.

©Bunguswa Brian™