The human donkey's snout tilts upwards,
Its dark occupant's eyes almost perceptibly moving
Beneath a square gauze chin patch,
Straining for prospective coin poppers or, at the least,
Some form of harbour-city husbandry.
But the passers-by, tired of seeing
So many such animals
Contorted and cut from their herd,
Veer and leer and bustle on to their next
Glitzy destination.
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