He stands there
Beneath the tracks of an abandoned bridge
He smells of body, sweat, and alcohol
The tattered blanket he clings to is hardly a comfort
And he flips through the pages of his life ... a tragic comedy
He is broken in the dark
But hopes the cold will veil his shame
A shadow passes across the moon
And an intriguing look lights his lonely face
Who does he think about?
*I wrote this about 7 years ago while helping run a soup kitchen in Little Rock. On one Thanksgiving my friend and I went to a place under the old tracks where 5 homeless men lived together. We brought them a deep fried turkey and dressing. I wanted to ask each what he was thinking about, but I wrote this poem instead...