Battered and beaten, he retreats
Searching for a moment’s solace
But looking, one can see
The defeat etched across his face
Slowly he stumbles, each step a victory
What his battered body allows
Drinking his breakfast of whiskey
His shattered soul takes a bow
Agonizing over his coming sobriety
The cold and loneliness looms
Trying to grasp a homeless piety
He wanders among the cardboard tombs
Even he can occasionally see
A lifetime ago, before the fall
A family man, a fading memory
So very, very hard to recall
As I pass this human shell
Gratitude for my small misfortunes
Grants me the privilege to wish him well
To share a smile and a twenty-dollar fortune
Category: Poetry