Homeless Encampment

Old Cotto weeps, pain turning his face from blue sky to gray then rain, violent, wracking, soon tears become daisies and he will sing songs from dangerous days in Vietnam echoing in his head, a long playing record, music of the dead. Preacher Man paces back and forth, his voice booming repent, be saved before you are damned, over and over, same words, same tone, a flesh and blood windup toy testifying alone. Martha sits in front of her tent, vacantly eyes a distant void, busy hands bringing Vienna sausages to her mouth, food for the gods for which she has sold her body, her soul, those last bits of gold. Mikey slaps at the insects buzzing about his ears, please someone make them leave me alone, but neither spray nor netting will ease the dread of the incessant swarming inside his head. In cardboard quarters to sleep for the night, alert for sounds in the perilous dark, I remember a bathtub, toothbrush and toilet, someone’s goodnight, best now forgotten, it’s all out of sight.