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Outside McDonald’s: Sweeper, Man Your Broom
And so he sweeps, against the blustery winds
That blow his efforts back into the cold
Cigarette ends and plastic straws adrift
Across the parking lot and far away
His hoody hides his face against the world
And shabby gloves protect his trembling hands
His body bends against November’s winds
Before the great American fast-food dream
We sweep inside, for coffee, breakfast, and warmth
The sweeper sweeps, against the blustery winds
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