The Junky and the Train (I observe a poem)

a hollow eyed junky
waits on the train
with shaking hands
he lights a cigar

I watch him silently
from across the station
as he smokes his stogie
he doesnt seem to notice

I see him as art,
as a poem written
across his needle
scarred flesh

He taps his foot
nervously
I can almost
hear his thoughts

Hes puffing on that cigar
frantically, desperately
when the train
pulls in at last