ALL OF THE GOOD RESTING PLACES HAVE BEEN TAKEN...

I wait...

until the crowds have thinned

Until the cars are gone

And the streets...

Empty

The curbs,

cluttered with trash

The stores,

Emptying

As last-minute shoppers

Make their last dash

Then, the last

Straggling owners

Shutter their store doors,

And echoes of clanging iron -

Steel locks against the burglar bars-

Fade and die slowly...

Away

I look

For some dry place,

Some nondescript

Abode

Just far enough away

That I won't catch the gaze

Of Johnny Ley

And close enough to light

Not to entice

The predators that prowl

In the darkest nooks of night

The best benches in the park

Are gone

As are bus terminal benches

And booths of public phones

I've slept on concrete benches

Of soft cement

Steel bench arm rest pillows 

That seem to bend

We'll have to wander through the streets

And duck in doorways

When scanning spotlights say

Hay viene Johnny Ley

Where, oh where, to go?

The last recourse, I will not go

There it is always silent

Quiet,

No noise

A soft, eternal snore

That gently stirs the ground

And shakes, and wakes you

To look around

And see no one

No, the city cemetery is out

I'd rather walk

All night

Tired, exhausted, beat

Than hear their silent screams

Theirs, the ones that always sleep

All the good resting places

Have been taken

Except for that

And sometimes, I must confess,

Weariness tugs me there

To come and stay

And pull me down 

Under the grass