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Invisible

He smiles
A broad, gentle grin
Round eyes, a kind, constant gaze
The small children stumble
Giggling, prancing, twirling
Rubber boots and puffy suits
Off to decorate him
With hat and scarf, though
Profusely perspiring
As the bright sun showers him
Burning him, wearing on him.
This bitter March day.
A icebox that traps
He with no cocoa
No blankets or mittens
As he trembles in the doorway
Of the long, forsaking alley
This bitter March day.
A furnace to those
Whose only coat
Is another layer of snow.



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