Spiraling into the Void

He had a job as a waiter, but the virus
Came and his restaurant closed. There
Were snags with the checks he was told
He would get, and the moratorium on
Evictions he'd heard about didn't do much
For him, so he's out and he's down. He
Lives under a freeway bridge in a tent
Among lots of others, “A suburb for losers,”
He says with a laugh. He can't wash.
He's damned lucky if he gets to eat,
And, since he has no address or phone
There's no way he can get a new job.
He sits, sometimes, in the brush by
The freeway, watching cars come in
From actual suburbs, and marvels at
How he's no longer quite human. He's
More like a ghost: on the edge
Of existence, unseen.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 41 times
Written on 2021-08-27 at 22:13

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