The wino I know

I know

the wino

who lives on your block.

He doesn’t speak

and doesn’t walk

very well.

He lives in Hell,

though technically

he’s homeless,

no address,

lives rent free

between the

Dumpster and the

deli,

till winter comes,

numbs his toes.

Then I don’t know

where he goes.

The wino

I know

has noplace else to go.

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