Fresh back
on the street
from prison,
a pumped up
hilarious Hercules,
forced to sleep
under a bridge
along with the
broken and dead
windblown umbrellas.

Now, yet another
up-rooted member
of the homeless,
flashing a *******
at these so-called
modern times.
Not even a bottle of wine
to keep him company.

The whining of
the automobile engines
echoing off the
concrete and steel,
ripping and tearing
at his overblown ego,
shredding it into strips.

He knows full well
before long he'll return
back to the cell block
by his own choice.
Not knowing anything
but a life of crime
since his youth.