The Challenge

Poem, home, cardboard box.

Miami, nights aren’t too cold

Though a few February nights

air nears freezing

as do I.

 

A dirty blanket

flecked with waste, vomit,

spilled food, dirt,

grease from the ground

sturdy box

mashed in places,

corrugation collapsed,

torn and blackened smears.

 

Words, roof, heavy paper,

not enough, as with all,

they are all.