Wash

A few days ago I managed myself into
An all-familiar pocket, one that is warm,
Full of lint on the right days – after
A good washing or two or three and
They’re on – so I walk
Among the best of us, all smiles
Friendly strangers – myriad good-bye’s
Bored, I walk again, this time in the
Middle
A few shoulders holding chips, some
Smirks – no teeth and eyes carrying
Dead weight, or living love, I will
Probably never know. So, I walk on.
To the harbor, the boardwalk, dumpsters
Rusted-out car. These people –
All different; pimps, doctors, whores,
Lawyers. No chips, smiles – anything.
Just silence, mutual understanding
Of why we are truly here in the alleys,
Under news papers, giving head in
Public bathrooms and half of us broke.
No-good good-bye’s.
I realize then – this might be where
I belong. Drug-man and
Jezebel both want money…
Reaching into my pockets I
Find only lint. A reminder that I
Too could use a good washing or
Two or three.

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