slumped, socks and flipflops
snacks nearby, a can of wolf brand chili
his backpack stashed under a table
a corner chair, upstairs
snoring lightly in the quiet section
an exhausted seat of questions:
does his bed not suit?
does he have one?
what four walls, or lack
thereof, give him no rest?
if he needed help,
would he ask for it?
or would he go on a’snooze,
hiding out in the more
comfortable realm of
broken down dreams?
Stuff and things that went through my head one afternoon hanging out at the library. Thanks for reading!
The Poetry Patio 