Tuesday, March 4, 2014

4 March 2014

Canto 9

Which circle of hell caters to homeless
like one who last night slept in the driveway
outside my window, pissed

my fence before folding his tarp qua
bed, shouldered his plastic garbage bag —
black on black except for a flame

scarf ringing his neck. Yes, I watched snug
behind drapes in my propane-warmed doublewide
as he gathered his rags

close, started down the asphalt grade toward
morning, whatever morning brings
to someone in his situation. Yes, this is my delayed

sympathy for his situation now that I’ve 911ed
& texted the grayed-out photo
I snapped through the dining room window —

it could be the retreating back of anyone, no
fringe of signature scarf, no face
to ID in a lineup. No,

he’s traveling to some designated space —
its devils, torments, grace.

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