Black plastic jellyfish float on the breeze,
detritus of homeless, drunk as you please;
reminders of illness and other things lost,
price of a forty the true smallest cost.
Gathered at feedings the city’s unknown,
backpacks aloft as they migrate and roam---
to library, shelters, and other spots too,
a wandering tribe of the destitute blue.
Aggressive panhandler or meekest ghosts
trading in cigarettes and ancient boasts,
past loves and triumphs, now long forgotten,
family ties and their teeth just as rotten.
Daily health scares and fears of attack,
almost impossible to watch everyone’s back
no matter their comrades, or a free cell phone,
when the dark one arrives, they will die alone.
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