HE HAD A RIGHT TO SING THE BLUES
He had no feet
Just short stumps for legs
But that didn’t slow him down
For below his waist
Was strapped a skateboard
And he pushed himself along
With one arm
While singing
and blowing into a harmonica
With the other.
As he rolled by me
I muttered to him,
“damn, brother. You certainly
have a right to sing the blues.”
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