The biting winter snarled its teeth,
To awaken him from his concrete bed,
The trees shake with the wind, bare of leaf,
He can’t recall the last time he was properly fed.
Reaching for needle so frequently used,
He burns the powder that spells release,
It strangles his memory of a youth abused,
His arm swallows the bubbling, boiling grease.
He barely realizes the sordid looks and stares,
His battered body warrants such things,
As though he burns eyes like a hundred flares,
They could never understand his wretched beginnings.
Slumped outside the city ATM,
A suited man withdrew money in plenty,
“Any change?” hand extended, like a grubby flower stem,
“Not today, you ***! I can’t spare you a penny.”