From knee height; a homeless man’s perspective

Strange flashing neon lights-

the sun rises up again over the trash cans

and the chill retreats for a time.

This light reflects

in dirty water,

puddles as useless and

unnoticed

as the wet on

the homeless mans cheeks.

Gun fire stutters

through his mind, and

his eyes flash

with the echoing horror.

He huddles under his blanket,

watching people

as they walk in front of him

back and forth,

day after day-

they move like clouds

passing over his perspective-

the world at knee height,

near to the floor.

He rubs his nose

and hugs his own shoulders.

Daytime’s not so bad;

the rats approach at night,

but he stares them down

like the pests

that they are,

avoiding their

ironic stare.

The rats are a welcome reprieve

from the demons

that come with the blackness;

that darkness which

slinks in

right behind his eyes and calls

him the rat,

him the pest.

He twitches and

takes a deep breath;

more water leaves his eyes.

He stinks,

he can’t escape it.

The night sets in again,

and the traffic lights

carry on flashing.

His world is fragmented,

disorientated

and empty.

The people he sees are actors,

on the world;

his stage

is empty, his laughter

not present,

and his smile is

lonesome,

stained and

utterly redundant.

 

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