He sits on the curb
unaware of the time
only knowing
that it is night
and that it has been
over twenty-four hours
since he last slept
his head between his knees
he tries to disappear
If I can't see them
then they can't see me
has a home
but no home worth going to
and he has a 250ml bottle
of whiskey in a brown paper bag
the night is still
cold and dead
people ask him
son, is everything okay?
he smiles
he nods
he goes on sitting on that curb
kissing that brown paper bag
is everything okay?
things are never okay
he doesn't remember when he first noticed
maybe around the time of the divorce
but he has noticed
and now he can't stop
so he sits on the curb
drunk and slovenly
waiting for something
he knows will never come