Sometimes He steals away

dressed in clothes

he has owned for years.

Worn down in the common places.

Palm rubbed jeans from thighs to knees.

Proof of exposed anxiety.

He wears socks with holes

on hands and feet,

only going out when it’s cold.

Feet housed by K Swiss

bought fifteen years ago

betray a belief All-Stars were too cliche.

Him, too troubled to not be different.

Now they separated at the seams.

Just like his dreams,

with a hole in the bottom

of the right one.

He is no Jesus,

cannot walk on,

or through water with impunity.

And it seems, it is always raining.

Layered…

in t-shirt,

sweatshirt,

sweater, and finally

the military coat

worn in rebellion as a teen.

He spends the weekend

with no cash or bus tokens,

finds newspaper blankets and

a cardboard lean-to where he can.

Learning places to fit in. Invisibly.

A taste of, a little comfortable.

Where minimal judgment lives.

Now is the time

to use the skills

he has learned

dealing with abandonment.

He always knew that one day,

though no one told him,

he would be good at something.