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The outside man

The outside man

He seems so unlucky, so seedy

His dark eyes implore some kindness

His amazed hair recalls his idleness

His shoes have come off his fallen body.

 

The outside man had suddenly lost his work

The fate had deposited him along the street

Under the insensible lights which paint the street

Along the walls, he dreams about misty work.

 

His pitiable face speaks of this difficult life

Reduced to begging in the name of strict economy

In the name of an injustice which called redundancy

In the name of a bad luck which consume life.

 

The garbage can is sometimes his small wages

Bottles of whisky invade his body all day long

Homeless, alone, dirty, he roams about all day long

Thinking of the past where he could earn wages.

 

Christine Duhamel.

 

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Guy Leroy 04/12/2015 12:05

In english! Well done!