NOTHING TO UNPACK

He'd come
to the end
of meaning.
Sitting,
on his cardboard valise
busted-up from some hard miles,
at another crossroads.
There were no ladies
who rested comfortably
in their beds
who expected him; no
discourse on youth
or their expectations
or promises. Here
there were no rails
to ride on or cars
to thumb down.
Here,
was naked
& left to chance.
Here,
was nowhere.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2015