This shelter reeks of piss and beer
A side effect of the local liquor store
People sleep here
This man sleeps here
Feet wrapped in sports
The classifieds spread across his body
The vomit still fresh

The smell hits me
Like a lean mean fat-reducing grilling machine to the face
I’ve never waited this long in my life
I quietly await my big blue saviour
He should be here by now
I shift uncomfortably on the nearby bench
Hoping to God the newsman sleeps deeply

I’m not proud of my wish
I should care about this man
But I’d be lying to say that I do
I want to want to care
And sometimes I hope that is good enough
I can’t help but wonder if he’s wasted his life
I can’t help but wonder if he wastes his every dime
I can’t help but wonder how God deals with judgemental pricks like me
And as my mobile messiah pulls up
I can’t help but wonder if he’ll make it through the winter