Stare Down

On an inner city avenue,
The earth turns round and round.
The sun comes up and goes back down,
As it was made to do.

And men and women toil away
And come home tired and sleep,
And live and die, rejoice and weep,
Day to day to day.

And all the while, locked in time,
He stares me in the face,
He hasn’t moved a single pace,
And won’t until he dies.

And In the summer days of heat,
Sweat beads on his brow.
His skin burns and tans, and browns,
Under the sun that beats.

And when the winter days begin,
He shivers and he shakes,
His frost-bitten face, a grimace makes,
As he finds some strength within.

He never moves, I know he’s thinking,
Sitting, watching, waiting,
Patience thinning, nerves abating.
Never breathing, never blinking.

And all the while, locked in time,
Staring me in the face,
He hasn’t moved a single pace,
And won’t until he dies.