It’s 5 AM and the streets are quiet.
I park my car by a corner-shop and pause to search for change.
Passing me, in a crab-like walk, is a man.
His head bobs and lolls as he shuffles down the street.
Drunk this early?
Or drunk from the night before?
I can’t tell.
But there is something poetic about his walk.
It echoes groans from a dark world
-a world of despair, dismay and loss
-where many sorrows are drowned repeatedly.
I watch him weave along the sidewalk
-oblivious to the gentle wind.
I find my coins and hurry in to buy some water.
As I drive off to work, I watch him in the rearview mirror.
He leaves patterns in his wake across the street.
© Vivian Zems
Poets United #496