lie his Lucky Strikes.
The elephant's ears, tattered to shreds,
job of the pocket knife.
The obscene writings
on the Mickey Mouse wallpaper
glare fiercely and affronting.
The alarm clock is set at two in the morning,
who knows what for.
The tiny butts, scattered all over the bed,
still oust their fiendish reek; infiltrating.
A mere tot sleeps on a vinyl couch.
His scribbled hand supports his shaven head.
Something happens in his nightmares;
the scarred and bleeding image of a happy child
comes back.
However, out of grasp.
His bloodshot eyes open simultaneously.
And accustoming to present-day reality,
they close once more.
A quick prayer is all he needs,
to go back to sleep.
The moribund elephant
stares sadly upon the wreck.
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