Walking strange streets in unknown city,
Light pools on slick, black pavements.
Stalking mixed smells of cooking food,
Night closing in, making decisions immediate.
Where to sleep with no home to go to,
Shivering with cold, lack of sleep.
Hair plastered to forehead with rain,
Quivering with some untold sense of fear.
Too cold to sleep outside, money may stretch
Far enough for a cheap bed for the night.
‘Flu a condition he could not afford to suffer,
Bar lights beckon, alcohol would deaden the pain.
Choices to be made, food, drink or a bed,
All too much for his befuddled brain to make.
Voices whisper insistent in his head, go home.
Call could be made, all this would go away.
Yet there were reasons for his sudden flight,
Simmering in his fevered mind for weeks.
Wet clothes finally drew him into the warm bar,
Shimmering lights, loud music to lose himself in.
Nursing his double whisky, he sips it slowly
Feeling the warmth track from throat to stomach.
Cursing a god he doesn’t even believe in,
Steeling himself for the difficult night ahead.
Lights low, in a suburban home, a woman weeps
Unknowing why her husband has disappeared.
Nights are the worst, haunt her with unknown fears,
Growing inside her like uncontrollable rising hysteria.
© Carolina de la Cruz – 15th April 2012