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 retired and live in southern Maine with my wife and two dogs of questionable origin. I created this blog as an outlet for my occasional opinions and random observations since my wife is tired of hearing them and, after 50 some odd years, probably with good reason. I appreciate your checking me out and hope that you find something that will encourage a return visit. Thanks for stopping by.
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