the fight I wanted

there are those days
when I am so at the mercy

of what I think the world
thinks of me

that I watch the weather report
to find out who I am

I go down to my corner
and hand out my pamphlets

somebody sometimes
drops a dime in my cup

and what’s wrong with that
it’s honest work

I wonder though if the man I was
would even know the man I am

on those days
when the toast don’t burn

and I leave my gun at home
and I chant om mani padme hum

to my stumbling self
and the hobos I meet

when I say whatever
you think of me

you are correct
and I love you for it

when instead of head-butting
my way through the wall

I dissolve discreetly
through the door

after all the fights
is this the one I wanted

the fight to show my face
to you and to me

and to become fearless
in anonymity

~