Those Fucking Tramps

Tramps just there on the bench,
littering the park up.
Smell of old haddock & woodchip & death –

carry sacks full of trash
& drifting white cloud -

to soften the muscle
faded & cracked.

Speak gibberish,

a mixture of gurgling sounds
& vomit -
a mixture of God awful gurgling sounds
designed to make us pity them.
They cry for one another too.

by Deborah Gordon