Traffic Jam

He lay there
right in the middle of the god-damn road.
Used some kind of greasy cloth for a blanket
and folded newspapers for a pillow.
by a line of headlights,
by car horns,
and spoken to,
"Move you dirty bastard, outta the road,"
he lay there.
he raised his head,
turned stomach-side down,
extended his arms
and lifted himself up.
Then he bent down
picked up a bottle
raised it over his head,
then put it to his mouth
and emptied it in one long gulp,
then threw it down,
He gave us all the finger
and lay down again
head on newspapers, body under cloth,
behind a barrier of broken glass.

Richard Fein