Johnny Maiden

The Narrow Road

Two hungers are all I live and die with.

Britle bones and a shrinking stomach

rattle my quarterless cup, my vision

blurs. Shiver and breathe smoke

with no cigarette. Stingy businessmen

in black overcoats pass

by my wanting mug and look through

me; they see the need for my next meal

not as important as their impending shoe shine.