He wakes up before the sun
Park benches and alleyways
cardboard boxes and piles of coats
he has nests all over the city
strategically placed
near the corner shop
fast food places
and liquor stores
on a good day
he can buy three
twenty-two ounces of Budweiser
so that by night time
he can forget himself
forget you
forget me
forget his home
a damp concrete floor
and a shirt pocket
filled with loose cigarettes
He wakes up before the sun
until the day comes
when he won't