Homeless

Ink lings

Shuffling down the sidewalk
His life in plastic bags
Societies discarded remnants
A dog of suspect lineage
Frayed rope for a leash

Diverted glances avoid his being
Wide birth given to his course
Downcast eyes try not to notice
Hurt hidden within rumpled clothes

All but forgotten 
Reduced to the humility of handouts
Food, scarce sustenance hoarded
Shared with his faithful friend

Hidden neath a blanket of night
Darkness devours him

Surrounded by brothers
Sharing the pain of despair

Ghosts of  yesterday’s lived
Before the bottle and drugs
 Seduced and softened reality
Loss of dignity the price

He strokes the dog beside him
Her head upon his lap
Unlike those he left behind
She accepts him without judgement

They know tomorrow
Will be another yesterday
Where hope is just a word
Bereft of meaning

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About oldmainer

I am a retired manager living in Southern Maine and a would be writer of poetry, narratives, short stories, and random opinions, and that's how Oldmainer was born. Recently, I decided to try an experiment. I added photography to the mix, using only a cheap cell phone with a limited camera and the editing software that came with it, and added the blog site Inklings at poormanspoet.wordpress.com to showcase the results. So, feel free to use whatever you find interesting or worthy, but please honor the terms of my copyright when and if you do. They may not be much, but they are still a piece of me. I appreciate your checking me out and hope that you find something that will encourage a return visit. Thanks for stopping by.
This entry was posted in Reflection. Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Homeless

  1. laurie27wsmith says:

    Nice Bob!

    Like

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