A very quiet heroin problem 

Walks the city at dusk

In a dirty plaid shirt and a rumpled pair of jeans.

And in the hush-hush of the afterglow, 

The city fathers attempt to call his parents,

But no one shows up to claim him

Except an older gentleman on a ratty bike

With a backpack full of leaves.

And in the confusion of his camouflage jacket,

I see myself.

My mind is so disheveled.

But my heart is clear,

And my tears are, too, but salty.

-jenn