Many vagabonds
Count their sins
In the parking lots
Outside strip malls

Taking each stone
For one blessing
Ruined by a chance
Never had

Across asphalt
Littered with rocks
Representing loss
Better questioned

By God Himself
Feeling ruthless
Turning fate so wrong
Overnight

Where they fail last shots
Under awnings
Facing evening’s cold
Growing desperate

Letting passersby
Give them glances
Before reaching back
Grabbing cash

Seeing neon signs
Slowly fade
While driving away
Always leaving

Taking luxury cars
Over distance
So far enough now
We forget

And hearing my wife
Merely whisper
Just jot it all down
Or remember

Certain faces
Proving that gospel
Keeping truth by bags
Become beds

How perhaps sometimes
I still write
Since only this pen
Ever answers

When seeming deep down
Very homeless
Despite trying too hard
To ignore.

• J. Pigno