The rain begins
it's sexy
snare drum
dance on the
sleeping bag.
Too late
to find a
better spot,
too early
to get up
I drag bedroll
and backpack
and smelly yellow
construction boots
into a doorway.
Sleeping as a
question mark
curled in it's
too small space
for a little
while more.
What kind
of person am
I
that I would
choose this?
Only a moment
later
the crazies
begin cursing,
singing,
and praising
GOD.
Good God
won't they
shut up?
My socks
scum stuck
to my feet,
shit stained drawers,
my bottle empty,
and pipe busted
I start the day
even.
When you
live the streets
you just got
to make it
happen.
