He crushed out his cigarette
Pulled the collar of his cheap coat around his ears
And trudged into the cold night
Chased by the sound of his footsteps
And his shadow
Rain fell in silver ribbons, puddles formed in the holes
On the street
He avoids the ones he can see
Others catch his feet like dark and groping hands
Water like ice cuts his boots to ribbons
Somewhere out there is a bed and a light
He used to sleep there
Kept warm at night by the allure
And promise of another day well kept
Somewhere to call home
Only fools live with complacency
The same fools who believe that forever
Is more than a word used to bond
A soul to a soul
Until the death inside tears us apart
The tombstone like an accusing finger
With words of dubious comfort
The measurement of a short life
And the tonnage of darkest guilt
Faded flowers and a toy never to see joy
Each flash of lightning, crash of thunder
And pelting stone of hail
Causes no more hurt; the cold, more a balm
To alleviate the inside burning
As his eyes scan only the ground
Another corner turned, empty alleyway
Where is the absolution? Where the Furies,
The deus ex machina, manipulation of fate?
Where is the end of the trouble, the easy solution
To splutter on the end of a blade?
Where, then, the assault from stealth,
The blunt smash at the back of his head
The fumble of hands; watch! Wallet!
A kick in the face, the guts, the groin
The fading of running footsteps...
To have that moment of total recall
Images of his life played and replayed in the
Theatre of his smashed and crushed skull
To blink, and blink and blink again
Beg for forgiveness when he deserves none
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