The New Breed

The net curtains twitch.
Mondays itch,
as I walk by.

Yeah.
I’m this pure driven boy.
Walking your streets.

Hear me now!

Because.
I can cut you down,
or make you sing.

The turn of a sixpence,
smile or grimace.
Will be all it takes.

Listen!

It’s my change,
my currency.
Not yours.

Dig this new breed.