The Hidden Graveyard

Spring thaw
reveals a graveyard, dirt-spattered.
The sole of a shoe,
peeled from its upper,
candy bar and condom foils,
mummified dog shit
now free to decay, seep, join the soil.

An empty fifth of vodka catches my
eyes, breath, thoughts.
I see your ghost in it.
Too broke to buy a liter,
too broke to buy anything but Phillips or Karkov,
too broke to drink in an establishment.
The sidewalk becomes your salon.

I piece together a story
from the detritus.
Of lost shoes and cautious love,
of desperate calorie-grabbing
in the shape of peanuts and chocolate.
Of a man–young, but worn down,
drowning himself
in a shallow pool of liquor.

When the light changes,
I roll forward,
leaving the hidden graveyard
in my wake.