In the mornings,
the dark blue van
That I sleep in
is splattered
with pigeon shit
Like the gray
speckled age
in my hair.
I open the door
and step out,
and stretch
and piss
Noting the
sticky
dried sweat on
My chest ,
back, and arms,
and smoke
a cigarette.
Only then do I
try and gather up
The hand written pages
and 24 oz. beer cans
That litter the front
of my rolling blue home.
I don't recycle the empties.
I don't rewrite the poems.
They are what they are.
In the mornings I read
what I've written down drunk
and then I walk
to the Salvation Army and eat breakfast.
'In the mornings, the dark blue van
ReplyDeleteThat I sleep in is splattered with pigeon shit
Like the gray speckled age in my hair.'
These lines are so rich with meaning. You know, I used to tell my students that a poem was like a well-packed suitcase, and as you unpack it, and find yourself looking at the piles and piles of colorful garments, and you can't imagine how so much was contained in such a small space. That one line of a poem could equal a chapter in a book. You have told a whole story in those 3 lines, you've created a character, a setting, a mood.
This poem reminds of 'The Wrestler'. If you haven't seen it, you must.