BLACK SHEEP
He looked like someone
You’d see asleep on a bus
In the middle of the night
With a three day stubble
And clothes that had been worn
By many before him
He always showed up late
With an armful of newspapers
To scour the want ads
Having recently been laid off
When they tore down the arena
He sold concessions at
And when his time came
To read what he’d written
He pulled out a masterpiece
He’d scrawled on the back
Of the letter announcing
His unemployment had run out
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