Fleashine

A fleashine shoeshine man of fifteen
Brings the house in with a smile
All twelve teeth tell myriad stories
One upon one and one

The breath in his handwaving
Drives the gypsy woman mad
She loves him anyway
Has told him so a thousand times or more

She refuses to believe that
At 42 years old
She's not still a butterfly
Ready for the net

Bobby the fifteen
Is turning strong and growing soft
As can be seen by his patience with the animals
He used to hate 'em... now lays down beside them

To keep all from feeling sad
As animals sometimes do
He thinks of being old enough
To marry the girl with two heads

Their name is Gladys
And they don't yet know
Of the young man's fascination
They're too busy drawing circles in their arms

A fleashine shoeshine man of fifteen
Floating into the next town
Puts a straw in a Jim Beam bottle
And lays his head down