by Laura L. Snyder
Tall mocha in hand, she contemplates
the homeless man asleep
in a cushy chair. Between muddy shoes
is a lumpy black plastic bag.
She looks outside the rainy windows,
February in Seattle is cold and damp.
He’s young, younger than her kids, brown-skinned
and clean-shaven. What of the family
he left behind? He laid
the newspaper sports section
over his knees, but didn’t hide
layers of worn clothes
or the absence of a coffee cup.
Walking out, she sets a half full mug
by his elbow, buying time.
Laura L. Snyder writes in hard-bound journals from rainy Seattle. Find her latest writing in Labletter, The Ravens Chronicles, and in anthologies: Poets of the American West, Classified: Prose Poems and hell stung and crooked. Laura was nominated for a Pushcart by Quill and Parchment, and nominated for Dzanc’s “Best of the Web 2010.” Look for her chapbook Winged coming out this year from Flutter Press.
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