The crossing guard carries roses,
The crossing guard carries roses and a
Bright orange vest
The paltry mid-march sun awakens the violet crocuses,
Violently violet blossoms
The remnants of February, the smoky snow on the sidewalk, is side stepped
by weary people wearing their struggles 'round their necks,
'for a good cause' they scream, and the
tremble in their voices could be the cold or
But none of the hurried drivers with cigarettes hanging
Out their windows have time to empty their purses of
A dollar or two.
the crossing guard stops the traffic and drops rusty coin
into cardboard collecting boxes, and makes his way
back to his corner, still carrying scorched
Roses and a bright orange vest- I think he might be crazy.