THE JAYWALKER’S DISCIPLES


Their favorite word is “clammy.”
They have a substance on their chins.
They’d like to derive pleasure from an eclipse for once.
They have nothing to add to fear.

They commit one random act of kindness per day.
They defecate with tact on the shoes of the deaf.
They may already be winners.
They move like the wind when the wind is in bed.

They’re running a big risk here, you know.
They are to snow as snow is to science.
They phone with impunity.
They’re better off not coming at all if

They insist on coming inside me.
Their signals, though crossed, are not to be undersold.
They prefer ink over chalk when
They can afford to live large.

They resemble castrati superficially.
They stole my uncle’s gum.
They’re planning to hijack a Brink’s truck.
They eat ivy too. Wouldn’t you?

They came from another planet.
They tremble freely in the library.
They pull feathers from pigeons and call it a day.
They celebrate yuletide tidings that are gay.

Their faces broke the molds that made them.
They toss in their dreamless sleep.
They can’t get past the mountains that surround their village, nor can
They see beyond them to the sea.

They high-five in groups of several.
They hold their liquor, but gently.
They find time for the kids, and the kids find time for them.
They’re not bad people, just ask them!

They are fat, thin, and everything in between. It is said
They “grace” the stage.
They’re wimpy at times, lonely too.
They get so they can’t remember their names.

They’re nothing to write home about.
They probably need to pee.
They’ve got plans for us though, believe you me—
They are, according to legend, here to party before they flee.