I look out my window
to the cold street below
He finds a sidewalk spot
where the sun doth glow
He lays out cardboard
Then a blanket on top
He settles right in
and lets his head drop
for an afternoon doze
His shoes for pillows
No demands on his time
Yet his nap is a "crime"?
A well-dressed man
steps around the spot
His dog is curious
The owner is not
Windows are more
than pathways to vision
They also demarcate
what's OUT from what's IN
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