Thursday, February 19, 2009


There they were, this couple,
hobbling down the street.
Vagrants, I’m guessing.
They looked worn.
Tired and Hungry.
She, clutching
on to him, her
only hope.
He, using a large
stick of some sort to
navigate the asphalt
terrain for his woman.
All they needed was
a scrappy mutt in tow.
Dirty clothes hanging
limply from their frames;
His hat torn, her curchiff
looking like a dishrag;
But where were they going?
Methadone clinic?
Soup kitchen?
Crack den? Or merely just
a safe place to sleep?
Were they on the run
from someone?
Did they have kids
somewhere hoping that
dad wasn’t in jail or
that mom was safe and
on her meds?
When was the last time
they felt the warmth
of a home?
Or the clean smell of fresh
towels and unused soap?
That aroma of real food cooking.

I drove by them and once
they were out of my rear
view, my day began...

0 comments from fellow 'Basement' dwellers:

Post a Comment

Say something... Anything...