Just Moving,
You say I walk like I carry the weight of the world—
but only when you ask me.
Otherwise, I’m just sweeping,
pushing the dirt from one side to the other,
never cleaning, just moving,
like a street sweeper stuck in motion.
The rails are broken—
one leaning, one ready to fall.
“Who’s pushing it?” you ask.
Not me. I fix small things.
Like buns on a sandwich—
making sure you don’t get two butts.
That’s my kind of repair.
Then comes Mr Smart,
calling out to the crowd:
“Five dollars, that’s all it takes.
Twice a month, all-you-can-eat.
Next time, another five,
and I’ll throw in a slice of special bread.
Don’t tell too many—
or the price goes up to ten.”
And you nod, thinking it’s a bargain.
But what is it really?
You give me money,
I give you crumbs.
You call me generous,
I call it survival.
See, that’s why they call me Mr Motions—
always moving my head,
whether it’s good or bad,
always in motion,
selling promises dressed as bargains,
teaching lessons you didn’t ask for.
Five dollars for trust.
Five dollars for hope.
Five dollars for the illusion
that someone’s helping you.
And I smile, because you bought it.
Because you believed it.
Because you called me a good man
for giving you crumbs.
✨
