BROTHER, GOT ANYTHING YOU CAN SPARE?
They drink and drink out of desperation,
holding up bottles of wine to their hungry mouths
as if they were still toddlers scarfing down bottles of milk.
Lost men, sleeping in doorways. Pain never gets out of their eyes.
One deranged, dilapidated day after another, time crumbles by.
A gin-soaked mind wonders: Is this misery worth living?
He climbs up the nearest rooftop, peers down at the street
and with tremulous hands takes a deep drag on his last cigarette—
he asks himself: Will anyone miss me when I’m gone?