and handsome homeless men
But they don’t know
about the stories in my head.
The ones where I’m an old man
who wears nice hats
and walks with other old men in nice hats.
And we are friends.
We have a breakfast place we go to.
We walk there together and don’t speak much.
But other people speak to us.
They say things like, “Hey there!”
And, “Hey boys!”
And we’re delighted to hear such things.
Delighted to know the pink unveiling of another new morning.
Hungerless and spent.