sits on the curb of a buckled sidewalk
staring across what’s left of a street
at the remains of three buildings
he imagines that one of them
was once the apartment building
where he lived as a young man
at least for a while
before the bombs fell
before people starved
or sickened and died
and left him and the others
the revenants
scuttling from shadow to shadow
looking for food or even a book
once an old magazine had sufficed
he’d looked through the ads
read the stories and commentaries
and imagined life as it was before
he’d excitedly shared it with another tramp
who stole it while he slept
he’d laughed the next morning
at the terrible emptiness of that
then missed the ads
especially the almost naked women
so young and so blond
athletic and happy
and remembered coffee
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