Crying

Poem

Photo by Ben Hershey on Unsplash (edited)

I see them crying
Gosh, I see them crying

     on the steps of a shop
     at hours too early to be thinking

For two mornings I’ve been strolling
Past them, gazing at their boots

     on scar tatted skin, they wear yellow
     36, size tags of old clothes uncut

Our independent untouched loneliness
They don’t even see me looking

     people are crying
     gosh, they’re crying

Every morning now, I see them
Every morning, on the same steps

     before the keepers
     discord their shaded steps

Their tears in the mist
They feather the ink on my notebook

     they keep crying...
And I...
     I keep coming back

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Gunshot

All the birds gathered by the windows
surfacing from a faded, distant child’s innocence
no heads turned

They were perplexed at the vibrations
still felt through the fading gun’s smoke

The revolver eyed the kids in a circle
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