At the foot of the footbridge
at the foot of the mountain
sitting on his hands
waits the old man
with more patience than teeth.
Beside him his dollhouse store,
which he tends with more devotion
than any pig-tailed, little girl,
and from which he sells enough
to collapse any economy or will.
But all the same
in sun and rain
he´s out there losing capital
because it´s better than being bored inside.
He gives me a mint most every day—
he´s more anti-system than any anarchist
When it rains hard I want to call
down the wrath of God upon a world
that soaks a soul so generous,
that tries to chill a heart so kind.