Drizzly October

Damp, in my waxed canvas jacket,
soaking in the memory of rain.
Shooting down blind streets,
rubber slipping on black tar.
 
My seat is a tattered pattern
of muted chevrons.
Worn thin by ghosts,
long departed.
 
I get off at my stop,
a situational ring
of fist fights, regurgitation,
knowledge, and vomit.
 
Steps carry me
over slick concrete,
but not from here,
I stay entrenched.
 
As the trenches writhe, I ride forth
in these sloshing shoes,
in this permeated waxed canvas jacket,
with a smile on my face.
 
Because I’m here,
under this moon, on this street,
in this rainy season, and I don’t
want to be anywhere else.
 
 

• Drew Evagreens -