In the realm of tales untold,
There lived a soul, unique and bold,
Murray the customer hobo's name,
A character in life's grand game.
With pants pulled up, one hand in grasp,
And the other pointing, a curious clasp,
His fingernail, long and sharp,
A symbol of his journey, a mark.
Through bustling streets, he would tread,
His presence causing heads to turn and spread,
Into the women's washroom, he'd sneak,
Causing havoc, a laugh he'd seek.
Toilet paper, sink, and water's flow,
A flood of mirth, like a wicked show,
His laughter echoing like a witch's cry,
A mischievous spirit, never shy.
And in his underwear's hidden space,
He'd find money, a hidden embrace,
To pay for coffee, a humble treat,
A gesture of kindness, bittersweet.
Murray, a poet of the streets,
A life unruly, yet full of feats,
His actions, odd and out of place,
Yet a story worth telling, with grace.
For in his quirks, a lesson lies,
To see beyond the surface, past disguise,
To find humanity in the most peculiar way,
And celebrate the colors, come what may.
So let us remember Murray's tale,
The hobo poet who dared to sail,
Through life's mysteries, with a peculiar flair,
A legend etched, in the poet's air.
This was a poem created by ai about one of the legendary customers I would serve coffee to on the midnight shift downtown Toronto!!
