kendall thomas


The Bums


evenings the bums sat around
talking the poetry of life
dirty blue-fringed words
hands cracked cold before the fire
held cigarettes
fingered noses
slept in cardboard boxes
in doorways
asses to the wind

ragged Cortezes on humps of garbage
aimlessly ambling the roads to paradise
farting
grinning
through whiskey-rotted teeth

Submitted: Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Edited: Thursday, November 17, 2011
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