The Storm Drives Them In - A poem of the streets.

Now the Wasatch hide
silver and grey viels
of rain, maybe snow,
washing their stones clean
from the muck stirred
by winds off desert.

The drunks roll in,
tired, dirty, and smelly,
the reek of vodka
mingles with mouthwash now
in elevators and restrooms
as they shuffle about.

Outside, when I smoked,
one of the tweakers
stood marching in place
between the light-rail tracks
screaming at folks walking
to work or lunch.

You can always tell
it's the first storm
by the clothing worn.
Most still wear shorts,
or jeans mostly tattered,
not good, warm gear.

Now they regret tossing
those bags of clothes
give Labor Day weekend
during feeds in parks
or from the churches,
tossed aside so carelessly.

Too many wear flops,
instead of real shoes.
I know they had
just few weeks ago,
but sold for hits
of their preferred drug.

Not sure about where
or when the spice-monkeys,
as we call them,
will drift inside finally
from their potpourri induced
sit in to oblivion.

The junkies sneak about,
looking for easy targets
to snag sellable items
to fund their binges
but are being followed
by the security guards.

Valley is clearing out,
as folks drift shelter-ward,
seeking to be inside
or at least praying
they open the drunk-tank
a week early now.

I've got the gear
to deal with it.
Save one item outstanding,
my jacket's is AWOL,
left in a car
with a good friend.

The jacket will arrive,
on its own soon,
or at least shortly,
as he gets off
from his job later
and swings by here.

I have no worries,
I like early storms
they drive away druggies
and let me enjoy
air cleared of allergens,
namely, what they smoke.

Sprinkles dot the pavement
out on Library Square
as I watch them
drifting to dry places.
Locomotive tweaker, chugging arms,
tells fliers are resigning.

I might head out,
find a corner open
due to the weather
as few hold signs
in bad weather now,
until wallets loosen more.

I ain't after much,
when my kite's deployed,
just tomorrow's coffee cup
and ounce of tobacco,
maybe a bit more
but not seeking riches.

East and west both,
the mountains fade away
as the storm claims
the vistas I enjoy
this desk so much
for sharing so freely.

Looking around the floor,
it's filling up fast.
The storm achieves what
the cops could not,
clearing the cold streets
of those laying about.

25September2013 - Dyfedd Rex