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The rough idling of an 18-wheeler with its pshhhhit, pshhhhit airbrakes stir him in the early dawn. It’s best to move on anyway. Out of mercy or carelessness, the backdoor to this industrial cement-block building is open most nights and the protected, 15-degrees-warmer-than-outside-temp six-foot entranceway, leading to the locked steel interior door, is appreciated. It’s much better than the shelter with the dorm-style cots and the need to protect valuables from the coughing, expectorating human refuse with at least one druggie manic who “borrows” a pair of dry socks here and a warm hat there in mid-night wanders. And the shelter staff with their malevolent, pseudo-benevolent jesus-loves-you-stares. He wants to scream, “The f jesus loves me – if he does, why am I stuck here sleeping on my WILL DO ANYTHING FOR FOOD OR MONEY sign and begging for a bigger breakfast than an anorexic eats.”
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bird carcass . . .
dirt, dry leaves
and gum wad
by Jeffrey Winke
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
This is great, but the reason I so strongly feel that way now (a feeling which will not wane, but mature and mellow like an old wine or your longest lived friendship)
ReplyDeletewell, I just can't say without offending some mush-mouthed hypocrite and its followers in this little community...but, man, this s***'s for real.