Open Question: What do you think of this poem? Input please?
 

I was running down the street,When I saw a man with black feet,Smelling them cause they were sweet,I knew he was a dead beat.Crawling on his knees licking the concrete,His name was skeet, not at all neatHe had a fetish with feet.Eating beets, he had a death blowThe air flow was great through his afroYou could tell he came from the ghettoHis eyes had a nervous twitch, Called me a bitch, as he ate his sandwich,Which he found in the ditch,I said oh shit, and was out of there lickety-split .

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