Old eyes flutter open,
awakened by the sound
of soft water on
a car roof,
and a sharper thud.

Spheres of light,
blur,
breaking the night.
They vary in color
shape, and size,
while thin streams
of liquid slide
down the rear window.

The upholstery
is torn,
from time
and its stiches
being stretched
too far.

Blurred points of pressure
push in on his fog filled brain
as the rain
continues.

He rolls down one window
allowing the pungent odor
of sweat
and old ***** cloths
to spill out.

Another thud,
is followed by
an angry voice
bellowing
“You need to move this car!”

The old man moves
crawling from the back
to the front
disturbing the junk
he has acquired.

With leaden bags
and burning red eyes
from his harsh life
he tries to
start his car.

It will not move.

So, the city takes
the last place
this old man
called home.