Jake's Flea Market

the stroll of the gentlewoman becomes a 
march   past the man who 
sags outside the door against the wall

he with the eyes   full of storm on the horizon 
that measure the soil on the clothes and the wear 
the number of teeth in the mouths of those who pass   
the men who enter and the men who go out   

until the sight of one as poor as he   causes
the dark clouds in his eyes to reverse themselves   

until he asks   friend   can you spare a heller   

that one   for that one also   leave 
a place in the contract for his name