I waited at the corner of Cap and Hunt today
in the elusive Carolina heat.
On the sidewalk two meth-heads,
dirty from days of digging in the dirt
for change,
started arguing about something I
couldn't
decipher.

She was screaming at him as
he shuffled in his dust cloud toward
a dead end I was thankful
to know nothing
about.

He stands on that corner in the morning.
He holds up a cardboard sign that says
Lost my job -
Please help.

This is my second run in with these types
in the past month.
Times getting desperate.

I shouldn't judge.
I haven't written a sober word in
a month.

That makes me either
a genius or
a waste
of
time.

Remember that time
I wept as she sang?