Old Sluggish

He shuffled along the streets,

A ratty old brown coat over his shoulders.

Chin, covered in scruffy fuzz.

A tattered old hat,

atop his head.


They called him Old Sluggish.

For that was what he was,


He spoke slow,

as if he pinched his tongue.

His gait was no faster than a tortoise.


Old Sluggish would come,

when the kitchen bell rang.

Strangers gave him food,

his drink provided by generosity.

He had no home,


No parents, no wife,

no children.

Old Sluggish roamed the streets,

like a scrounging ant.


He was kind,

but stern.

The children ran away,

then came back.

Sometimes taunting,

mostly to stare.

Old Sluggish didn’t care.

He roamed the streets,

his streets.

For Old Sluggish was his name.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s