At one o'clock in the afternoon
   (It still being winter here)
My shadow stands a bit taller than me
   - eight - nine - ten feet, maybe -
And this tall-drink-of-water shadow
   he wears a dark broad brimmed hat.
Might easily be mistaken for
   the most respectable shadow
   you've seen in a long while.
You might think he's wearing some
   fancy Italian patent leather shoes.
Wooldoublebreastedthreepiece suit,
   puts meat an' potatoes on the table.
But then
This shadow stops right in front
   of the bench where people wait for the bus.
And reads purple block script in jumbo child chalk:
     "A city becomes a world when
    somebody falls in love with one
         of its inhabitants"
And I don't care what the rest of you see
Cause I know that shadow
   (inside at least)
   is a punk.

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