What The Wind Knows

What the Wind Knows
 

A cold wind seeks its lonely path
 down the city’s concrete corridors
 and like a lover coming home creeping
 snuggles up to a man who sinks farther down
 against the alley wall in his ragged vest and shivers.

 The chilly evening is still young
 but there is not much to stay awake for
 when you are a street bum
 The last drop is gone from the bottle
 Now sleep is the only defense he has
 against the ever recurring scenes

 Memories of combat, another far away fight for life
         Too much, too much, not far enough down the line
          He still hears the screams, still sees the dying
       and the ones begging for death, dear Lord, dear Lord
  VA would take him in, but no, he’s not going through that again

      He could go down to the corner and tell another Vietnam story
    If his tale is interesting enough he can get a swig on their bottle
               just enough to loosen his tongue some more
           But lately the dreams of the things he remembers
          are starting to last longer and are getting stronger
     so he just hunkers down and loses himself in the wind’s caress.

        © Faye Sizemore  December 8, 2002

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