Step Up on Second Writers' Anthology

Musings of the Vagrant Elite

After I Ran Away From Samoshel #1

I Am Warm
By Laci Vitriol

A cold reign is falling
Hard upon the city,
Hitting harder on the homeless outside,
Beyond my limited, cataracted view,
Beyond the dimness of my protective cave
And its broken, crystal-spattered windshield
Backed by obsidian sky.

Crashing teardrops echo
Off the rusty metal of my unlicensed vagrant's van.
Buffeted by wind and rocking,
I hear creaking, cracking, popping
And thunderous plopping,
As wind-whipped gemstones dropping
Sadly slide cold snail trails down glittered glass,
Multiplied by four.
But I am warm.

Outside, it is cold.
Impatient drivers with at least one good eye
And heaters high and warm and dry,
See gray and grayer, huddled homeless, wet.
Defensive drivers all, polite
And always careful not to pry,
They frequently prefer a lie.
Mostly though, they simply sigh.

I wonder why. But I am warm;
Except for my nose and frozen fingers and toes,
I am warm.
Lucky, lucky human trash.

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