Facing the Elements

FACING THE ELEMENTS

Munching on half-eaten fish wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper,
Scales sticking to my beard and mustache,
The succulent yet slimy flesh slides over my tongue.
My mouth dry,
I drink from the fountain on 38th and vine,
bending over a small figure wrapped in a coarse blanket like twine.
The cold lashes at the back of my neck,
hair flaps in and out of my eyes,
I pass by a shop window and guess what I find.
My opera hat no longer black,
But more of a musty old grey,
Adorns my greasy and matted locks.
Skin that used to pale and delicate,
Wore the signs of age, booze and sun.
My nose reddened by the cold,
Sniffed the crisp clean air.
My shoulders used to be strong,
Bore the weight of the world.
Now weakened and tired,
Slump to accommodate the worries in my head.
I rub my hands together and blow deep into my palms,
The nails are nubs and my creases are spent,
And the dirt and grease well buried in my cuticles.
Sensitive, still are those large dirty hands,
That I use to feel the grass upon which I sleep.
My coat was bought for me by my once wife,
with a wish for me to look professional all of the time,
I wore it at our wedding and at her funeral.
Now it hangs limply over my shadow,
The shadow of a man I used to be.
My pants are soddened from last night’s escapades,
I lay down on my cardboard box as the night starts to fade.
My hands tucked into my armpits,
I let my mind drift away,
And welcome heavenly sleep,
And fresh dreams to come my way.