My friend said that would be me someday.
A Sunday,
he was as nondescript
as the gray
windswept day,
with a dried slice
laying on a thin off- white paper tray.

Scanning the funnies
with a painful expression
for some salvation.
Quietly chattering to himself
his only indiscretion.

Sinking
in the navy blue bulk
of a windbreaker
that hawked plumbing supplies on its broad back.
A pedestrian
peering out on a pedestrian street
looking at his reflection
conceding defeat.