by stevieslaw

You left behind

one half a jelly donut,

stale as last Wednesday;

some clothing, moth-eaten,

mildewed; two shoes,

one black, one brown,

with newsprint for the soles.

You left behind a paper sack

of winter warmth, and poetry

by Whitman, Poe and Crane,

well-fingered and browned in age.

You walked into the river

and left behind four dollars

and eighteen cents, which I

have spent on coffee

and a banana nut muffin,

that crumbled in its freshness.

Your poetry; penned

in your perfect prep school hand,

was stuffed inside two newish socks

atop the brown and laceless shoe.

It is unnervingly good,

but I can use the socks.

I crumpled your words in their freshness,

and set them to sail upon the river,

page by remarkable page.

104th Weekly Poetry Contest