for that homeless man who’s no longer there/ poem by Laurence Carr


for that homeless man who’s no longer there

inside the lining of his coat
lives a man once known

layered in shrouds of goosey down
that shine like crescent moons

with neckties screaming
ballpark cheers

inside his shirt a man who’s lived
on both shores of the underworld

who waves at passersby
who point at him

inside his pockets lives a man who
searches for a key that once held promise

hidden somewhere
in the folds of threadbare stains


////

a version of this poem is published in Threnodies: poems in remembrance


Laurence Carr is the publisher of Lightwood Press. His newest book is Strides: reflections on 6 acres with artwork by Edward M. O'Hara. Other books: Paradise Loft; Threnodies, poems in remembrance; Traverse (with artist Power Boothe) The Wytheport Tales and Pancake Hollow Primer. With Codhill Press, he edited and co-edited four anthologies. Writing can also be read on Cloudbank; Burningword, and Deep Wild, writing from the back country. And here on Lightwood.

Leave a comment