Frozen Ground

I bent down to pick up a penny from the frozen ground. I could smell myself, the acrid stench of sweat and soot, the taint of vapored vagrancy that marked my movements, masking me from the reality that used to be. I hate me and what I am, more than you could ever think to, but more so becuase you do, with your limp laughter and scared stares. I never knew my life never needed me to know it could all go away in a single day. I see it all through dirty windows draped in singed eyelashes and gutter grime, the pathetic gazes from afar as another afternoon of sale shopping and shoe sizing is ruined by my appalling appearance. "How dare you be here! What's wrong with you?" "Go get a job you junkie, you slob, just jump a bus so you can't disgust us with your sewer shoes and hard luck blues. You deserve the dirt and a kick in the teeth from the steel-tipped toe of a jackboot too. No one wants to see a scummy sack of crap like you, bending down to pick our scraps off the frozen ground." The helping hand of man slaps the taste of humanity from my mouth with each volatile volley of acid arrow analogies angrily slung and fired furiously from the bows of bastard businessmen and bleach blonde bimbos. My weary wounds fill with the sea-salt of sarcastic statements and unflattering finger gestures from frat boys as I bend down to pick up a penny I found on the frozen ground. "Head's up means luck," Abe smiled at me, and suddenly my thoughts began to run differently. I took a long look at the lingering light of one of the sweetest sunsets I had ever seen, and the simplicity and majesty washed over me. There was no use in listening to abuse and accusations and obtuse observations any more. I was being shown a door. Wrapped in the warmth of the amber and amethyst glow, I finally smile for a little while and close my dirty windows against the icy winds of waning words. Tomorrow, someone will bend down to pick me up from the frozen ground.