Caught In The Claw Of Winter

   by Jim Thacher

For February
The highpoint of the day
Is the soup house lunch.
Eleven to one.
We've come out of our alleys, or
From the our backseats of abandoned cars,
Our board-ups down on Veazie Street,
And like me, from under our bridges,
Mine the Teazel Way overpass,
For our soup, our slice of bread and butter, our
Coffee and our two cookies.
All for a song and a prayer
Of our thanks be to God.
I stay to help with the clean-up.
Keep warm for as long as I can.
Until they throw me out.
When I leave it's dark.
Snowing again.
But no wind. Thank God.
So I tell myself today
Is better than yesterday.
And that I'm lucky to have my box
Under my bridge
To go home to.
As I'm ducking under the concrete beam
I hear voices,
And hide myself behind the piling.
Watching. Scared shitless.
Three gung-ho's,
Burn my house to the ground.
Piss on it.
Pass a smoke and a bottle,
Between them.
Laughing like gods.
And I am content,
In their not knowing,
That I have fooled them,
Again.
Caught them in the claw of winter.