Flip-Flops

Sitting on my own at the bus stop at 10th and Main
Trying to hold my composure as desperate brothers shout after me in vain
Wondering what my purpose is in life after all this time
Maybe to become homeless? discovered? published writing lonely lines?
The time is now 11:04 on a seventy degree August weekend
With the fountain at my back, a cool mist it does lend
Me a reprieve from the fire of leather-strapped flip-flops at my feet
As I ponder, will I always be a bus goer? PT worker? often having too little to eat?
Will I give up or keep walking, on foot in front of the other
Going places unknown, support from few, God on my side, still- more concerned with going under
But just for today I have a few quarters in this no-name purse “Made in China”
And if all else fails, maybe still a man, a mate, a prince, a rescuer will find ya

~ by lostwidow on 2015/08/15.