Homeless

he's a punching bag,
a soul that others
throw cheap shots at.
half toothless,
he sits by the curb.
waits for new clothes.
smiles when he can.
I met him at Starbucks.
says he cut his hand
picking through garbage.
wears a hat with a hole in it.
swears he has a girlfriend
though she's mad at him today.

speaks of his daughter,
her blue eyes, Sunday dress.
holds an old faded photo.
says she's as kind as a kitten.
he hasn't grown tired of love
but knows he'll never find it.

for him life is oblique,
skewed in the city's underbelly,
the scaly streets,
the nerves of night,
but give him a coin and he thanks you.

at times old ghosts rise.
he moans then lifts his fists.
gets lost in his own hurricane.
young tongues mock. 
adults judge.

he's lost his rightful human way.
what is the antidote?
some say a faltering brain cannot be repaired.
the sun dims. night returns silence, 
quiet hours for this old soldier.
he trudges to his outpost.
he'll catch sleep
while the world moves
further away from him.

Watrerfront Watch

smoke, sky trails.
the tug turns, squirms,
then steers upriver.
the wheat has to move.
but with all that commotion,
you’d think a warship was out there.

today no sun.
the somber air is thick.
I watch a gull poke blood thirsty
into the glistening waves.
in life nothing dies easy.

we drifted, hit rocks.
the merciless wind
carried us over the shoals.
split our hull.
all we could do was watch
our ship reach bottom.

today, dockside,
the gravelly air
lets me reel in my sore heart.
the fresh sky gives me sails.
I stroll with my eyes
like open windows.
I do not need shelter.
I do not fear love's mystery.
nothing feels perilous.
the cool breeze tickles.
the morning has a potent rhythm.

I flash on a bright red skirt straight ahead.
those shiny buttons, like little
golden gemstones, turn towards me.
oh yes, she's a cherry blossom.
her sassy dance tickles.
our eyes meet.
our thoughts crisscross.
she laughs, curls her lips.
me too.
ah yes, I'm back.