Poetry from M. Spear

Pile of Person
 
They gather up
in piles on the street
corners, begging
for a stop.
No one ever stops.
Begging for a question
no one is asking.
Might as well be miles
away to the rest of us.
Immune
 
I’m no longer letting
them get under my skin.
I’m no longer listening
to the criticisms like
fish hooks.
I’m trying on a new suit
and this one’s made
of armor.

Jack Jumped Over
 
Jack be nimble
Jack be quick
Jack could not outrun
his troubled past
Jack wrote a tell-all
and pissed everyone off
Jack is off to bank
Jack laughs all the way.
Franchise
 
Coming soon to a place
near you.
The same old same old.
Listen to their pitch
about their useless products.
I want to sell something
I believe can work.