Ray . . .
sits on the park bench all day
bumming money and cigarettes
from whoever gets in the way

Ray. . .
looks a lot like me, people say
(friends telling jokes over toasts to our recent good news . . .
the baby in May. . . .)

Ray. . .
might have a past
Who can say?
(God, imagine if the future was all there was to worry about . . . .)

Ray . . .
the sky has turned a dull gray
The fires in the underpass campgrounds will be all ablaze

Ray . . .
I may regret this someday
Here’s my wallet, my keys, all my IDs . . . .
Here’s my life.
Take good care of my wife.

Ray . . .

Remember me?

Spare any change?