Flophouse

Flophouse

People come in and out
Every day

New cars
In the driveway

A boy, a cigarette
A father, a bike all bent

They don’t look like they know
Each other all that well

As the father and his cigarette
Hits the boy in the back of the head

And they walk down the street
In the rain, together

A mother and her infant daughter
Arrive at the house every day

A mother vaccums her entire car
Loud every other hour, almost

Anorexic
Never without that white hoodie

Where ash and crumb must have
Spilled down into the interior

And the cars
Oh, all those cars

All parked on the
Neighborhood parkway

Fixed all day
In the rain

Cables hooked up to a battery
Compensating for unpaid bills

Others come in and out
In and out

But the mother there has
Remained

Father says
“She’s a crackwhore”

But the boy doesn’t
At all understand

Nor do the other tenants
Demand

Anything more than for everyone
To go about their sorry business

Leaving the boy
To toil in pitiful witness

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