Backpack Poem by Robbie Brereton

Fraying straps that secured his crumpled pack,
a dented bottle bleeding from the brim,
tan lines tattooed across his sweat soaked back,
the matted beard that used to define him.
Singed driftwood from an extinguished camp fire,
a chunk of meat dropped on the road to rot,
the screaming whine of a burst moped tyre,
splintered skin from the helmet he forgot.
A blotted stamp of a river boat taken,
a ripped map that was constantly lost,
a handful of friends he left forsaken,
the welted imprint of a silver cross.
Recent memories will never grow old,
as a faded sunset now grows cold.