The early morning

light

licks

the edges of

the world

back to life.

I drive slowly,

the dark

uneven streets,

and sense of

general 

neglect

setting my

senses

on 

edge.

I notice

him,

just before 

taking

the 

corner.

Shoulder length,

I think,

grey hair.

Seems tall,

lying there

in the 

shadows.

I stop the car

and

really look.

He’s sleeping

soundly.

Clothes 

tattered and torn.

Cardboard mattress.

Head in a black

milk crate.

One’s head

is your most useful

body part.

I blink,

taking it all

in.

There’s a

man.

Sleeping

on the side of

the road.

A warrior,

helmeted

with a crate,

old, tired

bones,

and cardboard

for ease,

having escaped

the rat race,

we so firmly

believe.

~Lu