Thursday, January 8, 2015

Morning Commute

This poem is about a real boy too, just like yesterday's post. But the photo above is not of him. In fact the guy in the photo has it pretty good so long as the weather holds.

I saw the boy only a day or two in mid November before I wrote the poem. He was sleeping rough in the late fall and his cubbyhole was not exactly out of the rain. It was also fairly exposed which means that the cops would roust him out fairly quickly. His bike possibly still worked.

Morning Commute

The bicycle boy
lives under the viaduct,
not even a tent
though the frost comes soon.

I see his moon face rising
as I drive on by,
as unknown to him
as all the other drivers
on this hard hard road.

November 16, 2010 3:32 PM


  1. Home
    that's where I be
    on this chilled afternoon
    something has got to break
    for me soon
    can only ride so far
    when you got nowhere to be
    less is not a place to envy
    me here you there
    tell me
    what do you see
    a person
    or just something taking up space



The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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