Madman

He crosses his arms, confident posture
As if in deep conversation with another
Nodding his head and retorting out loud 
A scene so normal, it draws no crowd

Clothes torn to rags, brown as his body
Hair matted with dirt, feet looking shoddy
He walks into the street, blind to the cars
One occupant yells, “come outta di road!”

Still talking to himself while walking about 
He stops at a shop, dispersing the crowd
But he only has eyes for the garbage bin
Rummaging to find something filling 

A half-eaten burger, a red soda can
Stale newspaper and a plastic bag
He digs in again and comes up empty
Then runs off quickly, as if in a hurry 

Laughing and running, he stops abruptly
And sits on the pavement looking sullenly 
Then starts laughing again, jumping about
Cackling and howling with sporadic shouts 

He lives in a world all on his own
Free to frolic, to dance, to roam 
Sidewalks for home, no bills to pay
He lies down after a bustling day

A thin mongrel dog draws close to him
The dogs and the birds, his only company 
They huddle together, trusting implicitly 
Two dejected souls living brotherly