Crepes

There was a crepe on the sidewalk,

Baking there with its chocolate sauce oozing.

The powered sugar was drifting,

Slipping under the soft clap of people’s shoes.

How long had it been sitting there?

By the gray tint of the crepe, I’d say hours.

Why would someone just drop their crepe,

On the ground, half-finished and dripping with sauce?

It stopped me for a brief moment,

The whole peculiarity of the thing.

Then a man, dressed in a fine suit

And a red tie, bent over and picked it up.

As he dug into the old crepe,

I wondered why he would eat something like that.

And then I started thinking:

Maybe we’re old crepes sitting on the sidewalk,

Wishing someone would pick us up,

Wishing someone would have faith enough in us

To take a hold and dive right in,

Unafraid of repercussions and stomach-aches.

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