Shallow Footsteps
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An inconsiderate sun slowly sinks
while sleep tries to avoid dreams of freezing.
Steam from a sewer grate grants forty winks
as he lays on it, coughing and wheezing.
In his head, drums, the beat of passing feet
and it's almost impossible to sleep.
For that irritating sound is the street
pulsating; shallow footsteps echo deep.
Ignored and forgotten, he awaits day
as the rats of hunger gnaw at his guts.
And little by little, he wilts away;
while stinging remarks add salt to his cuts.
The morning finds his bedroll soaked in pee,
for had he gotten up, he could have died.
The night air was forty below, you see,
so he held it in, or at least, he tried.
Survival dictates a warm place to go,
but he's viewed like an annoying splinter.
And that insensitivity is so
pervasive he faces death each winter.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018
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