Mad Dog Melodrama - Poetry

Through a million dreams 
I follow his image 

he was already dead 
when I stumbled over him 
dropping my purse and 
tearing pantyhose and skin beneath

on hands and knees I fumbled 
for lipsticks and lighters 
mixed amid empty bottles of 
Mad Dog 
that had failed to keep him warm
eyelashes rimmed with frost
framing forever unseeing eyes 

I had to step over him to 
stumble, crying,  up the stairs 
fingers trembling to 
call nine one one 

My boss already there, 
warm.  Working.
drinking coffee. 

I asked him over lunch 
if he'd seen 
if he knew 

"Hell yes I saw him! Scared the shit 
out of me!   Damn bums asking for coffee and shit! 
Maybe we'll get lucky one day 
and he'll go back to where he came from...."


©Donna J. P. Riley


Another oldie.  True story.  Still breaks my heart and feeds my compassion for the homeless.


Not nearly as well written as some of my other work, but I never tried to edit, I felt that the imperfection suited the story.