the man wakes from a (one eye open) sleep
with the sore back on a hard bench
stretch and groan, early, to steer clear
of the passers-by sneer and eye-roll
with quick turn of the head,
and they move along …
way back when
the boy woke from a (one eye open) sleep
with the hard and fast pounding hand of panic
pressing his heart, and iced-up breath in his chest,
as he waited for grave footsteps
and a stale beer breath fog,
and he couldn’t move,
and he can’t move on.
Note: this poem is not based on any one individual.
If you live in Australia and need someone to talk to – you can contact Lifeline (Crisis support and suicide prevention).