Jellyfish
Black plastic jellyfish float on the breeze,
detritus of homeless, drunk as you please.
Reminders of illness, and other things lost,
price of a forty the true smallest cost.
Gathered at feedings, the city’s unknown,
backpacks aloft, they migrate and roam.
Library, shelters, and other spots too,
wandering tribe of the destitute blue.
Aggressive panhandler or meekest ghost
trading in cigarettes and ancient boast,
past loves and triumphs now long forgotten,
family ties (and teeth) terribly rotten.
Health scares daily and fear of attack,
almost impossible to watch one’s back,
no matter comrades or their free cell phone,
when the dark one arrives, they will die alone.
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