The highest seats of the stadium reserved for the wealthy
He sits below
Formed in the street dust
A wanderer, a witness just a small man
He looks up and some who hold the top look down
None recognize this face slowly forming into leather
A small man at the base, wooden, broken and poorly maintained
He sits with the poorest and wallows in their simple chatter
Beyond the crumbs the high people drop, he shares the little he has
His smile gives away the fact time is his daughter.
As feminine as truth
If the poor surrounding only knew
Cackles and jeers is about all they can manage
Lives of crack wood
This small man shows them compassion
A commodity the peasants had little notion of
The small man left the stadium with empty pockets
as the show began
the toothless masses screaming as their sarcastic superiors smile down from above
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