In this richest
of cities
two blocks
from the black Buick
parked in the mayor's
private space
a silent man swaddled
in a damp grubby gray
sleeping bag
huddles
in a raised recessed
entrance way
pressing his back flat
against a locked door
to draw through it
what warmth he can
while gentle falling snow
collects in the
whitening creases.
On the concrete sidewalk
Four feet away
bright Friday night's
noisy chattering carousers
kick through congealing
dirty oatmeal slurry
hurrying to the next bar
ignoring him
as he ignores them.
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3 comments:
What a sad but beautifully painted picture, what with snow in the creases...
Did you talk to him...?
You see it in every city, and it's always the same.
I will be silent for awhile...we are moving overseas and the computer will be on a boat for 6 weeks...but I will snatch a glimpse when I can...
I wish you and yours a safe journey, Christa! I'll look for you again, come the end of March.
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