Randomised Generic Sincerity

Steve Pearson Poetry

“Thank you,” said the man, and
“You have a real nice day.”
How kind that he should care for me
In his little, special way.
It could so easily sound so throw away,
Maybe even a little trite
So easily it could make you feel you
Could thump the little shite.
I prefer to think he wanted me,
To have a day enjoyed
No Freud or Jung or others (unsung)
Just day, of shit devoid.

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