Before dawn, Highway 6 bridge.
Mallard ducks wobble across wet pavement.
I scatter bread,
grab my big black garbage bag,
take a few morning swigs
to knock off the shakes,
vomit it back up.
City sleeps, dumpsters smell of rot.
I climb in, sifting through cat shit,
discarded porno mags from college kids,
Hawkeye Country leftovers.
Up brutal hills,
long runs that burn the calves,
rolled cigarettes scraping my throat,
bag cutting into my hand,
starting to rip
and orphaning a few precious nickels,
dawn still undecided
about letting me live.
Then the other side of town—
limes rotting with cilantro,
old Spanish rice and refried beans.
Aluminum cans equal nickels
for the waiting bottle,
like a cold, shallow reward.
Beemers and Volvos buzz by.
Businessmen on their way to work.
I shuffle past, unseen,
trying not to get hit by their apathy,
daylight swallowing my quiet survival.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 8th, 2026 07:14
- Comment from author about the poem: Books on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Thomas-W.-Case/author/B0CL2RKDGX?refap Check out my YouTube channel, where I do poetry readings and put up shorts of golf, fishing , and life in the Midwest. https://www.youtube.com/@ThomasWCase
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
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Comments7
I always think, a guy that can scatter breadcrumbs for the birds even though he's down on his luck is a stayer.
The haves and the have-nots, a gulf that's getting bigger as the world grows. I'm not even sure if it's pity we give anymore, we're all just one mortgage payment from joining him.
Thank you, my friend.
This one hits hard like a morning hangover. It dwells not only in the head but sour gut. Raw but half digested like the aftertaste of vomit that one can not clear from one's mouth. It is visceral and heavy I can almost hear the buzz of flies. Well written Thomas and a fave
Thank you. Much appreciated.
You are most welcome Thomas
The title drew me in immediately, Thomas…I could write volumes from personal past experience, and I’m thankful those days are behind me now. The poem meets that weight head-on, moving through hunger, addiction, and invisibility with clear eyes and no excess. It’s survival rendered plainly, and that’s what makes it powerful. Wonderful job, dear poet. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you. Much appreciated.
Most welcome, my friend!
Well written. Your poem revolves around themes of urban survival, poverty, and the often-overlooked experiences of marginalized individuals. The poet deals with the struggle to navigate a neglected city environment while grappling with addiction and a sense of invisibility. The imagery evokes a visceral response to the harsh realities of life on the streets, emphasizing the contrast between the hustle of the working world and the quiet desperation of those living on the fringes.
Thank you.
It brings out the worst in people, surely. We can add 'sadly', especially if it applies to any relative(s) we know.
Thanks, my friend.
A day in the life of a fine poet. 🌹
Thank you, sweet Teddy.
A study in drawing atmosphere with words -a fave.
Much appreciated.
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