A little like poetry

once star

his wrinkled hands
slow, shaky movements
the veins that popped out
on his arms and legs
his skin like rough paper
his sight more than just blurred
he wandered the streets,
suddenly lost and alone

he asked for helpin mumbled words,
not understood
shoved aside,he fell by the roadside
people too busy to see him
stillettos on the pavement,
ringing bicycle bells
& swinging briefcases

he was no more than
a man on the floor
he was no more than
a cause of delay

would no one help him?
would no one help him?

staring, glassy eyed
his now wet face
sweat and tears
blood on his grazed knee

struggling, he stood
a motorbike roared past
"Get lost old man!"

what a difference this was
could no one remember
remember this star?
could no one remember
his handsome young face
on the cover of every other
magazine?
could no one remember?

how about thos autographs & fan clubs?
where were they now?
could no one remember?
remember him?

shuffling, he sat down
on the bench right next to
Mr. Ronald McDonald
the guy who'd become his best friend
just recently

besides ol' McDonald
guess no one'd remember him
this star. once star
for all he was
was another old man on the streets

(c) xoxoCharis Vera @ 10:45:00 PM