Junkie in the Stairwell

He was nice. Friendly.
Hey, how ya doing.

He didn’t know I’d seen him
hide his works as I came down.

Smell of urine on concrete.
He wears nice, casual sport clothes.

I walk past heading to work,
to the stoney vineyard of commerce.

His eyes are set on a far horizon
where the ships come and go.

The sand is white and clean
and someone sifts the entire beach each day

looking for clean needles and China White
that may have been carelessly dropped by previous visitors

who now rest easy beneath the sand
while the waves roll their family’s dreams up the endless beach.

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