v e r l i e b u r r o u g h s

  His waits on a cold bench, his big hands are clenched around a paper cup soggy with coffee, garbage bag at his feet full of empties. It's a long way to town, and there's no one around, but he doesn't look like he cares . He's got a kitchen knife in his pocket for Bears. The rural bus won't take him, his bottles and cans are too stinky, (and they say he gets violent when drinking). I drive by wondering how he survives, I would stop but I'm going the wrong way. When I come back from my chore, he isn't there any more and I'm glad I don't have to bother today. Early bird poem a portrait. Repost from 2020

National/Global Poetry Writing Month 2025 has arrived! The challenge is to write one poem each day for the month of April based on prompts available here:   https://www.napowrimo.net/