Black plastic bag
filled with plastic bags
and the rest of his things
like newspapers
a moth-bitten sweater
an umbrella
and a transistor radio
he bought at Radio Shack
in 1983
been with him through everything.
Takes the same table every time
sets up his house
sprawls out magazines and a notepad
writes to the government.
He rises every fifteen
to flirt with the barista girls
he smells stale but harmless
nursing the same complimentary tea
since nine in the morning.
A regular comes in,
ponytail and Lulu Lemon,
asks, “do you want a sandwich?”
blushing, wide-grinned,
with her he goes to the food case,
like a boy with his mother,
“Which one?”
“Tuna.”
“Two please.”
She might be back tomorrow.
—Bernadette Malavarca
BernCreativeWork 