perspective of a streetcorner soapbox

and i see in you
something of insanity
displayed in the smoothing of your collar
while we hurtle over the edge
the way you tuck the key
under your bright coloured 'welcome' mat
that sits before your war-zone of a home
shelled out from the windows in
your caution to say happy holidays
lest your quiet celebration of something
to do with tinsel
offend anyone, skies forbid
and the way you shine careful
your black no-nonsense shoes
before stepping out in the streets
flooding in refuse and despair
the despair of those who have been refused
i see something of insanity
in you
in the way you look at me
politely smile while you disapprove
and walk on with a gentle reproof
of the state of today's youth.

i see something of insanity in you
and i wonder what it is you see
in me