i saw you on a stoop when i vacuumed my car
the one I am sleeping in
four wheels you don't have

just your bike
tucked under Confederate hair and a Nascar hat
 
we were both sleepy-eyed
but sound
as i put my work shoes on the outside ceiling of my bedroom
head spinning with sickness
your bike spokes spun away
 
meeting again on different streets
you ride

i drive

both of us ~ for a future
 
you're not the youngster i first mistook you to be

sun wrinked and now smoking
a self reflective glance in the rear view mirror tells me the same
 
one gas station
then the next
for a chance
a playground challenge between you, me, & the universe
 
the irony made us look at each other
tag- your it- from across town
you looked away
sneer, thinking me among the rich
your pride outweighs my self pity
 
matching long concrete steps to reach glass doors
the quarters jingle against my hand
yours too
we trade them for paper
wishing on daily numbers like teddy bear clouds 
that rarely clip victory

against another homeless day


© ruth follmann