By: Kris Price

The day’s bone gnawed through
the blue winter frost that surrounded
the bum on the street corner.

He flicked his silver lighter
to make a small fire in the barrel that
was in front of him.

The shimmer of flames gave way
to the bursting amount of city dwellers
all in a rush frantically floating by.

He had one cherry,
golden Buddha, and
a book of poetry,
to comfort him.

No one around to love him
but the warmth of the fire.