The stench of a day’s work in the sun mixed with
the smell of fresh booze on one,
stale on the other, swims across the bus aisle,
A pair of work boots beginning to show wear,
another held together by duct tape and will.
Hands red and chapped.
One’s face sun blistered from hard work even in winter.
The other’s covered by an unkempt beard.
Comments of a city changing
lead to shouts of who is more loyal to a place,
both agree, they recognize no more
Both had seen better days
One sees his future,
the other sees his past.
Angry for the path he’s on,
Bitter for the mistakes