Sometimes You Find . . .

 
Touring the city
at a quarter to eleven,
and my feet shuffle slowly
by an alleyway where
two streetlights
shine down on a woman.

I stare and her eyes meet mine.
She runs, holding up her long
tattered coat,
as I wave my hands in protest.
I'm not here to harm her.
But she limps past.

I find a part of her story
in the murky
depths of a garbage can-

wondering with all my heart
what burden carried her down
here to leave
it . . .
staring at darkness
instead of living in the light.

©November 16, 2016 / Jerry Pat Bolton