Memory Of Vincent by Doug Draime

He had everything down
to an exact science,
he said, as he arranged
his sparse belongings
in his cardboard dwelling,
to make room for me.
There was a stack of
newspapers in the corner
and a picture of a little girl
in a small silver frame.
sitting on top.
It was a snug fit but there was
more room in there than I had thought.
Once I was in and turned to face out,
I noticed a large backpack
and a small Coleman stove neatly packed
in a corner by the entrance.
He pulled out a pint of cheap whiskey,
that we’d polled our money to buy.
We shared the bottle,
talking about the hostility
of downtown L.A. cops,
but nothing about ourselves;
Nixon was president
and we both hated him.
The rest of the time we sat quietly drinking and
watching the nine to fivers
drive down Hill street for home,
without a bit of envy.


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