Sleeping Bag
Left there, under the bridge
Unfolded, empty but a story it tells
Is he coming back to it?
I don’t know. I don’t know
Whiskey Bottle
Nearby, drained of its remedy
On its side, empty but a story it tells
Is he somewhere buying another?
I don’t know. I don’t know
So I gaze out at the river
What draws me here?
Am I like him seeking shelter?
Is it something worse?
I don’t know. I don’t know
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