Listen 
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today at dinner time
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his bent body leans into the wire mesh trash can with open sore hands and patches of pus oozing periodically his head surfaces like a halloween party grab bag player costumed as homeless authentically safety pinned to his threadbare jacket a torn sleeve hangs on his tilted torso soiled pants suspendered precariously above swollen feet he swigs from an I love new york styrofoam cup spitting out curdled milk bits and flicks ants off an aging avocado then he swallows a hunk of hot dog roll in one gulp he limps off with dignity without a home |
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Janet Cannon |
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Previously published in:
Wheelhouse Magazine |
